


Trying to Get Better

by BruisedSkidd



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Ethan Winters, Bisexual Male Character, Blood and Gore, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Closeted Character, Depressed Ethan, Depression, Ethan is done with his shit, Game: Resident Evil 7, Gave serum to Zoe, Gay, Gay Male Character, Gross, Lucas becomes less of an ass, Lucas character growth, Lucas | Ethan, M/M, Post-Resident Evil 7, Resident Evil 7 Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:20:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28379898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BruisedSkidd/pseuds/BruisedSkidd
Summary: Ethan gave the serum to Zoe, leading to the deaths of her and Mia. After he escaped the Baker estate, he fell into a deep pit of guilt and depression. Two months later, Lucas shows up at his house and tries to get Ethan to like him.
Relationships: Lucas Baker/Ethan Winters
Comments: 37
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (TW: In this chapter, Ethan is mildly suicidal, and Lucas reflects back on his physically abusive, alcoholic father.)  
> No DLCs have occurred. I hope you guys like this!

“They say that when one door closes, another opens. Well, a door closed tonight. I had just come to terms with losing Mia the first time. But now I've lost her again. And the only other door I see...is closed."

It had been only two months since he had gone after Mia. Only two months since he had been through more trauma than he could have ever imagined. Time is supposed to heal, but it only revealed that Ethan wasn’t recovering. He was safe at his house back in LA, sure, but it didn’t feel like home anymore. Mia was dead, and it was all his fault for choosing to give the serum to Zoe. He didn’t remember why he did it-- maybe because Mia had tried to kill him so many times. Maybe because he might have been a little relieved when Mia disappeared, and only went searching for her due to a feeling of obligation. Or perhaps because Zoe was just so desperate to get out, and had been forced to witness her entire family became a twisted version of themselves...It didn’t matter now. He couldn’t go back and change things; life wasn’t some video game that he could do a second playthrough in.

Every night, he lay awake. Whenever his heavy eyelids would finally droop closed, the memories would come flooding back in vivid color: Mia’s look of horror and betrayal when he injected Zoe. How she sacrificed herself for Ethan. How she fought Eveline with all of her strength. Her face when Ethan drove his crowbar into her chest. And how relieved Ethan felt when she had crumpled to dust...

Over the past few months, he had learned that it was easier to press down his feelings, to ignore them, to drink. To throw himself into his work. Now he was just numb.

One Friday, he arrived home from another long day of voluntarily working overtime. A tired sigh when he closed the door behind him; the room smelled of leftover pizza. He flicked the light switch, and his TV whirred to life with a click. On its blindingly bright screen was a balding, pale man with a hooked nose and unfeeling gray eyes. He looked smug.

“Oh, hell no.” 

Lucas snickered. “Thought you escaped? You must be the stupidest damn city boy I’ve ever seen. I don’t let prey get away, ‘specially not after they kill my mama and my old man.” He cracked his jaw with a sickening click. “I tracked you down, Ethan Winters.”

Ethan stared at him, and Lucas received it as a sign of shock. With a shit-eating, slippery grin, he recalled how easy it had been to set the trap. He had tricked up the fridge so that it’d explode outward, spewing out cow intestines and car gasoline, when opened. He was poised at the ready, matchbox in hand, practically trembling with the anticipation to throw a lit flame into the gasoline-drenched living room. He could already picture the grizzled man enveloped in flames, begging, screaming, clawing at the walls until he met the same end as Clancy. Lucas couldn’t help but simper a little. It had taken him three hours, and the hardest part of it wasn’t the actual engineering, but taking all of that shit out of the fridge. There had been so fucking many cheap beer packets in there that they filled all three shelves. The only actual food had been shoved to the very back, and consisted of a dozen pre-made meals sealed in plastic containers with little Post-It notes on them saying sappy shit like “Remember to eat, Ethan. Love, Mom” and “hey dude we miss you. annabelle cooked this up so that you could have one less meal to have to cook. come back. your favorite dickhead, james”. Seeing so many beer cans had given Lucas a flashback to when his mama left home for a week, and his old man had completely stocked the fridge with his beer-- his “happy juice”, he used to jokingly call it. And what a joke it was, for beer didn’t make Jack Baker happy. It made him enraged. That week, he had been constantly drunk, and what an angry drunk he was. Lucas had never gone through such hell-- until Eveline, of course. 

Now, he touched the scar on his collarbone, tracing its long path with his finger, hating that his old man had permanently marked him like this. Like a fucking branded cow. Was it showing? Shit. Panicked, he yanked on his hoodie strings, hiding it again, and leaned towards the camera. 

Ethan had moved to the couch while Lucas had been so pleasantly reflecting, and was now curled up on it, staring into nothingness. Lucas could’ve sworn that those dull gray eyes used to be a joyful blue.

He furrowed his brow. Wait, Ethan was supposed to be terrified. He willed himself to calm down, to lead the horse to water. “A-Ain’t you gonna have a snack or some shit?” He twirled his matchbox with three long, nimble fingers, pointedly glancing at the fridge.

Ethan didn’t answer. His gaze had locked upon one of his bare wrists; he was tracing a major vein with his thumb as if planning out what he would do to it. Lucas had done the same thing before.

He cleared his throat. “Well?!” His voice was shrill. 

The software engineer slowly turned his head to make eye contact. Even through the screen, it made Lucas shiver involuntarily. What he said next made him shiver even more. “Just fucking come out here and kill me already.”

A nervous laugh. “Aww, that---that’s too simple. C’mon, don’tcha wanna have some fun with me?”

“No.”

“Where’s your fightin’ spirit gone, boy?” His matchbox nearly slipped out of his damp palm.

“I only fought to save Mia, Zoe, and myself. Now both of them are dead, and I don’t give a fuck about what happens to me.”

Hard swallow. “Now you’re fightin’ to not get tortured by my newest inventions. Man, they hurt like a bitch, I’ll tell you that!”

“Nothing you put me through,” Ethan said softly, “will be worse than what I’ve already been through. You’re a fucking coward. Do it.”

The matchbox fell to the ground.

Heart hammering in his chest, Lucas fumbled around for the sharpest thing he could find in the bathroom he had camped out in. It ended up being a shaving blade. He wielded it with a shaky hand and slipped into the living room. He was supposed to be behind the scenes, not onstage. Focus. He trained his eye on his prey, scanning his body for the easiest killing locations, or whatever they were called. And his prey looked so much like a shell of his former self that Lucas found himself wondering if he had been taken over by Eveline or some shit. That was impossible, though. Eveline was dead. Ethan looked a little less so. His brown hair was disheveled, he had grown light stubble, his suit was stained, and above all, his eyes had nothing behind them.

Lucas smirked. “You look like shit, man.”

No response.

Anger swelled up inside him. Things weren’t going like he had intended. “It’s not supposed to be like this! You’re supposed to play the fucking game, bitch!”

“Well, I’m not going to.”

“You are not supposed to wanna die.” His voice was quieter now.

“Do what you want.” And Ethan closed his eyes. His breathing became deeper almost immediately-- the man must’ve been incredibly exhausted. Frustrated that his victim had literally fallen asleep instead of being petrified, Lucas crossed his arms and huffed, still looking at his peaceful body. He didn’t even know what to do in this situation. Should he just go ahead and kill him while it’s all easy like this? But then he might as well just be killing a dummy.

“Goddamnnit, it’s not fun without a fight!” he snapped at nobody in particular, and fell back against the wall to lean on it. The problem with Ethan was that he didn’t give a fuck. He had no feelings. Somehow Lucas had to re-ignite them, to get him out of his slump... Becoming close to him. That was it. It would be an extreme challenge, but oh hell, he had all the time in the world, having to hide from the cops and whatnot, and he might as well do it in Ethan’s house. Also, it would be a prime example of “a perfect chance to practice your people skills”, like his mama used to say. Yes, this was a hell of a plan. Heal him, making new weapons and traps allthewhile-- much better than a fucking fridge -- and then torture him to death. Lucas was so thrilled to begin that he went back to the bathroom, took his computer off of the toilet seat, and searched up “best bonding activities''.. His betrayal needed to hurt as much as possible.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

When Ethan woke up, Lucas’s nose was an inch away from his, and those ghostly eyes were staring right into his own. “‘Mornin’, sleepin’ beauty,” he whooped, “you might find yourself in a bit of a pickle.”

Sure enough, Ethan was bound to a chair with his own packing tape. It was a brilliantly cruel detail, Lucas mused. He had been advised by the Internet to “engage in physical affection”, and had decided that he’d better double-check that Ethan was really broken enough to warrant going through all of that trouble for him. This was the perfect way to test that. If he didn’t plead and beg at this, he was certainly in need of fixing.

Lucas took out the shaving razor, forced Ethan’s head back, and turned it on. He slowly moved it until it pressed up against his Adam’s apple. No reaction. He began to drive it into the skin, and blood soon splattered everywhere. And still no fucking reaction. He just closed his eyes, looking like he was embracing being killed. He was acting all fucking wrong. From the deer Lucas’s old man had shot to good old Clancy, living beings were meant to fight for survival. It went against their very nature to willingly die, and Lucas hated to see it. He turned the razor off and released Ethan’s head, watching the dark red blood trickle down Ethan’s neck as he panicked. He had no control now because pain and death didn’t matter to him.

He hopelessly, needlessly attempted to make Ethan fear for his life once more. “I-I’ll fuckin’ slit your stomach open to make a cavity the size of my middle finger, and then send ten volts through it. You’ll be screamin’ within seconds. And I’ll just crank up the power a little more, hour by hour, until you fuckin’ die! We’ll see what gets you first: infection or electricity. Ain’t you excited?!” No response. “Your corpse will be oh-so-pretty, boy.”

Ethan scoffed. “Then do it.”

“I will, you fuckin’ idiot.” But as Lucas watched the blood pool around Ethan’s collarbone, he realized that he won’t. How was this blood the same blood that ran in the veins of the emotional widowed husband that went through hell and back for just a girl? He couldn’t fathom caring about anyone that much. What was it like? No. Stop being mushy, motherfucker. 

He blinked dumbly, snapping out of his internal conflict. He cleared his throat. “I’m gonna be crashin’ in on your little bachelor pad. You can’t do a fuckin’ thing about it. I know your address and all the ways to get into a buildin’.”

“And if I call the police?” Ethan sounded like he didn’t care about what the answer was. Like he was just reciting a line for a school play.

Lucas hadn’t considered that, but he recovered quickly. “They don’t know I’m in Los Angeles, fucker. I’m supposed to be in Dulvey. They wouldn’t search outside of Louisiana; they’re too goddamn stupid for that. By the time they begin to wonder if you were tellin’ the truth, you’ll be dead and I’ll be gone.” 

“Yeah, but I don’t care if you kill me. Haven’t you been listening?” He sounded agonizingly mentally exhausted.

Lucas snapped like a broken leg. “Ethan Winters, what the fuckin’ hell happened to you? You used to be all feel-y and shit, and now you’re drinkin’ like my old man and lettin’ yourself bleed out!”

Ethan didn’t even acknowledge the fact that Lucas somehow knew about his drinking. “Do you even remember the shit I went through in June? You were there; you should know.” 

“All that for just one girl. Mia was not a looker, whoo-wee! Then again, are any girls lookers?”

Ethan’s face left its resting position for the first time. “What the hell? What do you have against women?” He sounded mildly curious. This was progress. Lucas began to think up some shitty answer, but failed, so just told the truth. Wasn’t like Ethan would be alive much longer anyhow.

“They’re nice an’ all, but I don’t understand why people write songs and poems and shit about how pretty they are. Girls ain’t pretty. Boys are.” He froze. He’d never said anything like that before to anyone but Zoe. He felt a sharp pain and looked down to see that he had dug his fingernails into his palms, and one broke through the skin. He jerked his head up to search Ethan’s face. 

He only looked surprised, but not in a horrified way.

“You fuckin’ believed that, Ethan? You really are stupid, huh!” He trained his eyes away from Ethan, spotting the fridge. “Hey, ain’t ya hungry? I don’t remember what it’s like to need to eat, but it’s suppertime. Want somethin’?”

Ethan shrugged, which was progress. 

“‘Course, nothin’ you have is gonna be as good as Mama’s cookin’.” He went to get Ethan some food, and the fridge exploded into a firework of guts and gasoline. Lucas’s subsequent string of curses were nearly loud enough to bring his mama back from the dead.


	2. A Long Shower (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan makes a promise to Lucas that means more to him than he realizes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: There is masturbation in this chapter!

The kitchen was an absolute mess. Inky gasoline formed a small pond on the floor, lushly populated by intestines and livers and lungs rather than fish. It reeked of chemicals and death, and Ethan gagged. 

Lucas turned his head towards him, the movement causing a squishy bit of tissue to slide off of his shoulder. He looked like the monster he was inside-- he was drenched in the animal innards and car gas slurry. Those icy blue eyes were still visible, and now they pierced through Ethan’s soul, and he swore they hissed, _look what I can do, bitch. Next time, it’ll work._

But then he offered a sheepish, crooked, guilty smile, and those eyes glinted with _oh please don’t be mad,_ and Ethan had to close his eyes to keep from grinning back. What was he, some kind of dog owner that stumbled across his Alaskan malamute digging through the trash bin? No. This was a grown-ass adult that had clearly attempted murder. This was one of his stupid fucking traps. Ethan steeled himself and hardened his voice.

“Get me out of this goddamn tape.”

Lucas hesitated. “I think I’m gonna wanna keep you bound, Ethan.”

Ethan’s eyes snapped open and he glared. For the smallest moment, Lucas looked frightened. Ethan’s heart panged with hurt that he shouldn’t have felt, and he tried to sound a little less cold. “Lucas Baker, I have seen your house. You are not good at cleaning up.”

“There’s no mess there anymore!”

“That’s because the whole fucking thing was blown up! Get me out!”

Lucas sighed and poised his razor up against the packing tape, then paused. A deep, dark trickle of that crimson, honey-like blood dribbled down its plastic shaft. He looked to Ethan’s open wound, running his tongue over his bottom lip. He was starving. That blood flow was getting worse, and this injured creature didn’t seem to give a fuck about that, and suddenly Lucas was torn. Half of him wanted to sit down on that soiled hardwood floor and watch the man bleed out, watch as that rich, perfect lifestuff trickled into the gasoline. Human blood and machine blood mixing together in one devastatingly beautiful puddle. But the other half...

The other half heard a painful-sounding gurgle, and Lucas glanced up to see that Ethan had swallowed hard, and that had hurt, it had hurt him just to swallow, and Ethan just had his eyes closed, his lips in a tight line. He was waiting for death. He was waiting for Lucas to step back, take a seat. Watch him bleed out.

Ethan opened his glassy eyes to see Lucas looking upset all of a sudden. “Do you keep bandages in the commode?!” Lucas snapped urgently, sounding strained.

“The _what?”_

 _“Bathroom,_ idiot!”

“What’s the hurry? We have about an hour.”

Lucas recoiled as if physically struck. “You shouldn’t know that. You shouldn’t have searched that shit up. You’re not behaving normal, I-I-I just need to know where the fucking bandages are, you fucking idiot!”

“Cabinet.” His voice was quiet.

With a scoff, Lucas hurried to the bathroom in an awkward, restrained half-jog, as if all he wanted to do was sprint, but couldn’t. Once there, he didn’t bother with hydrogen peroxide or rubbing alcohol or ointment or any of those pills-- _so many pills why did he have so many goddamn pills._ Tore open a bandage packet with nimble, practiced fingers, returned to his captive, pressed it to the gaping wound. It clearly stung like hell, and Ethan flinched and hissed, but Lucas instinctively grabbed the back of his neck with one hand while pressing the bandage down even harder with the other. His hands were unnaturally frigid, and Ethan found himself focusing on that fact to distract himself from _Mia was in more pain than this when you killed her. How many times did you kill her again? You had a choice. You deserve this pain. He should be killing you._

“Why are your hands so cold?” He didn’t realize he had said it aloud until Lucas self-consciously released his grip and backed away defensively.

“My hands are perfectly normal, bitchboy!!!”

Ethan smirked, which shocked the bristling younger man into lowering his metaphorical hackles again. “Yeah, sure, Lucas. Let’s compare. Just get me out of this damn tape so we can do that.”

Ethan was being...playful? Stunned, Lucas obeyed, slicing the bonds with a frightening deftness and sureness. And instead of making a run for it like he half-hoped him to-- _prey is supposed to run--_ the man only stood up and held out his hand, palm facing Lucas. 

“Let’s compare.”

Physical contact?! What the hell? He was serious? Nervous as ever, Lucas hesitantly pressed his hands against Ethan’s and stared. The hand against his was so much warmer, so much stronger, like he could easily quit software engineering and go be a lumberjack. On the other hand, his own was cold and nimble, with long, narrow fingers. Usually, he despised physical contact, but this was so purposeful and so beautiful and he couldn’t help but hurt a little inside when Ethan smirked, slipped his hand into his pocket, and breezed past him to clean up a mess that wasn’t his. “Mine’s warmer,” he declared. The cocky, noble little shit.

Ethan was on his knees now, a roll of paper towels beside him, staring at the mess in denial. “Wh--how did you even get all of these body parts?”

Lucas rocked back on his heels proudly. “The butchery throws out a lotta meat.” 

“And the gas?”

“Nuh-uh-uh, Ethan. Shouldn’t give it all away. That’d ruin the mystery.”

Ethan only sighed and got to work, his gloved hands shoveling the rotting, dripping animal innards into the trash can. Lucas sat atop the couch and attentively watched the muscles in his back and arms move. He wasn’t strong like Lucas’s old man-- all old and hard and wiry and angry. Instead, he was strong in a different sort of way, like the noble lion from that one folktale his mama used to read him. Like he’d lose at an arm wrestle but hug someone so hard that they’d squeak. Like he’d never gotten into a fistfight, but would die in battle if it meant protecting someone he loved. Did he love anyone anymore? Lucas reflected for a moment and realized that he didn’t know. Mia was gone, and when he’d stalked Ethan, he hadn’t found any connections. Nobody worth taking hostage. A sharp internal pain stabbed his chest, and he tore his gaze away and onto his phone. _Workworkwork._

After ten minutes of looking at articles to the background noises of Ethan’s annoyed sighs and sounds of wet intestines plopping into the trash can, he became restless.

“Hey. Where’s the guest room? Mine as well go set up.”

“What?” He didn’t even turn around to look at him, which pissed him off. 

“I ain’t sleepin’ on the couch. Where’s the guest room?”

“Don’t have one.” And he grunted as he lifted an entire bull head off the floor. A squelchy smack as it fell into the pile. Lucas’s brows shot up. He’d lived in such a gigantic estate his entire life-- his exercise had been prowling around the different rooms-- and he couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to live in such small quarters. 

“I still ain’t sleepin’ on the couch.”

“Take my room. I don’t use it anyway.” He gestured to the couch with a bloodied glove. “I sleep there now.” His room reminded him of how Mia wasn’t there anymore, and how that fact was his fault. 

“Well, adios, muchacho.” Lucas dipped his head and left, and Ethan cocked his head, listening with mirth in his eyes as the gangly man explored the house, opening every single door until he had found the single bedroom. It didn’t take very long-- there weren’t many doors.

A grueling hour slugged by, and Ethan had scrubbed the hardwood till his arms ached, but the stench and the black stains remained. He unsteadily got to his feet, using the couch to keep his tired knees from buckling, and collapsed on the couch.

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he heard Lucas’s voice.

“I’m hungry.”

A fatigued groan. Then, “I thought you didn’t have to eat. Because of Eveline.”

“Did it ever occur to you that she’s dead? Her powers are dead too, obviously.”

Silence.

Lucas leaned over the top part of the couch and peered down at him, eyes glittering. “What’s for dinner?”

“I don’t know. Where’d you put all the food that was in the fridge?”

A crooked grin from Lucas. “The trash, because it was trash.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” He stood up and wrung his hands out, hunger clawing at his stomach lining. 

Lucas held his hands up defensively. “Before you holler at me, you oughta recall that there wasn’t shit in that ol’ thing. Just bottles.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Ethan’s eyes flashed, and for a split second, he looked downright feral. Even when Ethan was struggling to survive, he had never shown this side of him. 

“Bottles?! You threw my alcohol away?! I fucking need that!” 

Lucas flinched and fumbled backwards, cowering and bracing himself for a blow, and Ethan’s heart throbbed painfully in an area where he had thought he’d lost all feeling in. He didn’t care about that, though. He just cared about making sure Lucas knew he didn’t mean it. 

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry,” he whispered gently, beckoning him back over like he was a stray dog, “I didn’t mean to yell. I...” He glanced at the fridge, which had been blown to pieces. “I’m going to have to go to the grocery store. Wanna come?” His eyes begged for an affirmative response; he hadn’t been to the store very many times since everything had happened; he and Mia always used to go jointly, and going solo drowned him in grief and guilt.

Lucas was about to say no-- his lips were already curved around the word-- but he recalled that he was supposed to be bonding to the fella and building connections and all that, so he gave a reluctant, curt “sure”. 

Ethan lit up like a Christmas tree. His shoulders straightened, his smile returned, and his eyes brightened with delight. It was nearly impossible not to beam at the sight of him so _happy_ \-- Lucas nearly failed. He’d never seen him like this before.

“We...we look like shit.” Ethan was looking at the guts that dripped over Lucas in horror, and gently wiped a rogue pancreas off of his shoulder. The smaller man tensed at the physical contact, and then subtly leaned into it. Ethan knew that he’d imagined it, though.

“What’s wrong with the way I look, huh?” 

Ethan gave him a secret smile that he’d never seen before. “Nothing. Except most people won’t like seeing a guy covered in gasoline and animal parts and shit. Take a shower. I’ll take one too.” He dropped his gaze. “After you, of course. Not at the same time.” He stiffened all of a sudden and looked to Lucas with eyes so horrified and desperate that it hurt.

“What is it? What’s wrong?!” Had he gotten hurt? Were the fumes finally poisoning his lungs? For fuck’s sake, Lucas was supposed to kill him, not stupid gas!

“Please tell me...Lucas, please tell me you didn’t sit on my bed when you were all filthy like this!!!”

Lucas smacked his forehead so hard that it echoed. “Jesus, Ethan! Of course I sat on your bed.”

While Ethan groaned and gathered up his paper towels again (he was on the sixth roll by now), Lucas disappeared down the hall, opened three different doors, finally found the bathroom, and the shower came on. Sighing, Ethan entered his bedroom (Mia was here Mia was here Mia was here) to realize that it was pristine as ever. The bed was still made. The throw blanket was still neatly folded. He wistfully glanced at the right bedside cabinet to look at the photo of Mia again. It had been tipped onto its face. He righted it, but Mia wasn’t the one smiling back at him-- it was Lucas. For a moment, Ethan clenched his fists in rage-- how dare he take away the last part of Mia that he had-- but found that he didn’t have the strength anymore. Not when he looked at the photo. It was a very sweet one, really, and Lucas appeared to be about ten in it. He was grinning with a mouth full of gaps, and holding up a very familiar robotics trophy. 

_What happened to that happy little boy?_ He wondered. Could this be the same person that had murdered Clanc--

“EEEEEETHAN, WHY IS YOUR SHOWER SO GODDAMNED COMPLICATED?! FUCK! SO COLD! GET OVER HERE!”

Grinning, Ethan came as called and stood outside the bathroom door. “Just turn the handle to the right to make it warmer!”

“Okay okay okay. Okay, it’s good, it’s goo--OW! Jesus FUCK, that’s hot!!!”

“Not all the way! Just a little.”

“I did!!! Fuck, why is it pourin’ down at my feet instead of on my head? What kind of Californian bullshit is this?!”

“Just--”

“I’m tired. Just come in here.”

“You decent?”

“Yeah, of course. What, you think I’m stupid?”

Ethan opened the door, greeted by a friendly fog of heat, and saw Lucas standing next to the bathtub. Naked. 

“You said you were decent!!!”

“Aren’t I? I look pretty damn decent to me.” Lucas rolled his hips, and Ethan was about to roll his eyes when he realized that Lucas was wrong. He didn’t look decent at all. He was so fucking skinny. His ribs were so pronounced that they practically erupted out of his skin. He was so bony and pale that he looked like a walking skeleton. Like he shouldn’t be alive. Like it hurt to live. His body hair was sparse, growing timidly and in fear in the same way that springs grass grew during the winter. Like it wasn’t safe to grow. And his--

“Stop lookin’ at me like that.” His voice cracked, and his arms crossed in front of his chest to hide it, and all at once Ethan wanted to kneel and beg for forgiveness. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Lucas. I didn’t mean to stare. You’re just...you just look like you’re barely holding on there. Oh, God. I-- I promise that I’ll fatten you up, okay? I’ll get you healthy again. I’m going to take care of you, and maybe we’ll both be okay then.”

For the first time in a decade, Lucas was absolutely defenseless and vulnerable. Hell, he didn’t even have clothes to protect him. He was just a scared, naked shell of a man. And for the first time in a decade, he decided to let someone take care of him. There wouldn’t be any harm in it-- he’d get healthy again and get Ethan bonded to him at the same time. Then it would kill Ethan even more when he betrayed him, because he would know that he’d nursed this man back to health, trusted him, grown close to him, and only for him to be his demise. 

“Please.” Ethan was looking at him with those teary chestnut-gray eyes. They looked like a faded vintage photograph. He looked so desperate and in so much pain and so dependent. And Lucas would kill him eventually all the same, but he was making this so much harder than it had to be.

“Please what?” Lucas dug his fingernails into his arms.

“Please agree to try to get better. We can both get better. We’ll help each other.”

“Gettin’ better sounds good.” He swallowed hard and glanced away. “Now help me with your d-damn shower.”

Ethan did as he was told, showing him the basics. Lucas was a fast learner. Before leaving the bathroom, he cast one last glance at the skinny man in the shower. He looked so small. He looked away, burning with a thousand thoughts, -- _how did it get this bad did he always look like this is it eveline does this guy even fucking eat_ \-- scooped up Lucas’s soggy pile of clothes, and closed the door behind him.

While Ethan did the laundry, Lucas was relishing his first real shower in a long while. Sure, he’d washed his face in public bathrooms and taken quick rinses in hotels, but he hadn’t taken a long, safe clean since Eveline. Soon he had scrubbed grime from every crevice of his body, had washed his thin hair with shampoo twice, and his skin was no longer as dull. He smelled of the forest ground and the ocean and wildflowers. He finally smelled good, but his appearance was still dismal. No wonder Ethan had looked at him like that. Now that Lucas was examining his body (he’d avoided doing this very thing for a long time), he saw how not right it looked. Where his stomach was supposed to be soft and round, it was hollowed out. Where his thighs were supposed to be robust and strong, they were thin and feeble. His body hair was coarse like dried leaves, and, like dried leaves, it would fall out if touched too much. 

Lucas’s head spun, and he stumbled into a sitting position on the bathtub floor, staring down at himself. Staring at his cock. Come on, make yourself feel better. He took himself in hand, coming alive. Pumped a few times. But there was nothing to think about. The warm water showered down from above, and he internally thanked Ethan for that. Ethan. He glanced back at his cock. It wasn’t like it meant anything. He just didn’t know any girls right now, and his face was fresh in his mind. So he thought of Ethan and that secret smile that he wanted to see again, the one that felt like it was just for him, and the way his big hand felt up against his own, and his warmth, and _I’m going to take care of you and maybe we’ll both be okay then,_ and fuck, he was safe, and fuck, he came all over himself, gasping and groaning from the pleasure and clamping his hand over his mouth to keep from crying out. 

“Is everything okay?” Ethan. Fuck.

“Just-- just, uh, having a hard time with this stupid slippery floor.”

“Maybe I’ll need to get you a stool or something.” Like Lucas was going to be a permanent resident at this house. 

“No. No, that’s okay.”

“I brought clothes for you. They’re clean. Can I come in?”

Lucas glanced down at his sensitive, spent crotch and bit his lip. He didn’t think he’d be able to get up. “Just leave them outside the door.”

“You sure?”

God fucking damnit, just go away! “Yeah. Because I don’t want you lookin’ at me like I’m some freak show again!” He hadn’t meant to say it. There was a choked noise of pain, the sound of clothes being set on the floor, and footsteps receding. 

Lucas managed to stand, rinse himself off, and step out of the tub. He rubbed his hair dry, silently thanked God that the mirror was too foggy to see his reflection in, and retrieved the clothes. And fuck, they smelled like Ethan, like safety and warmth and fall leaves and fireplaces. He buried his nose in them, filling his lungs with that deep scent. He rubbed his cheek on them. His forehead. His chin. And he slipped the software company shirt on-- Mavis Inc., sophisticated type read-- and it dwarfed him. He held up the boxers and traced his thumb over the crotch, dizzy with the idea of Ethan’s being held by this very fabric. He slipped those on, too, and then the sweatpants-- _so soft!_ \-- and by now the fogged-up mirror had cleared, but that was okay, because even though Lucas hated his appearance, he hated his appearance in Ethan’s clothes a little less.

He passed Ethan, who looked apologetic, in the hallway. “Stop actin’ like a kicked puppy and go take a shower,” Lucas scoffed, but couldn’t hide his pleased grin. It had wormed its way onto his face. But he didn’t hate himself for it too much, because Ethan returned it with that damn secret smile.


	3. Field Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan gets out of the shower and realizes that Lucas is probably going to murder him.

Ethan was busy scrubbing the dried crust of gasoline off of his shins when he realized that perhaps his priorities were a bit muddled. There was a murderer loose in his house, and he was taking a shower.

Oh well. He was fine with dying anyhow; in fact, this was the most alive he had felt in the past two months. It felt like the final little sprint, the last burst of energy that a runner had when they were right in front of the finish line. This was just his final little sprint, he supposed. 

He pursed his lips and rinsed off his body. Then it hit him.

He was literally going to die as soon as he opened that door. 

He knew that Lucas had done something absolutely terrible. A feeling of dread haunted the entire bathroom. His heart pounded. There was nowhere to hide. So he didn’t.

Instead, he got out of the shower and numbly dried himself off, trying to think of something clever to say, so that if there was anyone watching, they might be proud or impressed of his wit. 

He stood in front of the door, hair dripping with warm water. It occurred to him that soon it would be dripping with blood. Or maybe it would be a clean kill. He would know soon. Would he meet Mia again soon? He took a deep breath and whispered, “I’m sorry that I couldn’t save you.” Because it felt like she was watching him with teary eyes. “I tried. I _promise, Mia. I tried._ B-but I made a mistake, and I can’t undo the past, and oh God oh _God_ I’m so sorry, Mia. And I’m sorry, Zoe. And maybe I could’ve saved the rest of the Bakers too, if I had only known what was happening, if I had only been a little smarter, a little faster, a little better of a person.” 

Tears rolled down red cheeks. This was the first time he’d spoken to them since everything happened. And now it would be the last time. “My mistakes. My mistakes are in the past now. I...I’m not going to let myself die feeling guilty and terrible, okay? I’m not. Because. Because, even if I deserve it--” A shuddering breath. “Even if I deserve it, Mia, I know that you would want me to be happy.” A choked laugh. “And now I’m going to die. But I feel okay for the first time in two months. I’m dying feeling okay.” He smiled softly back at an unseen face. “I’ll be there soon.”

And he swung open the door.

________________________________________

There was nothing there.

It was another one of Lucas’s mind-games. Anticipation turned in Ethan’s stomach and splashed at his throat. He swallowed it down and mentally prepared himself for whatever fucked-up machine Lucas had built. He would face death head-on. He vowed to not pleasure Lucas by showing his fear.

He walked down the hallway.

Nothing.

The living room.

Nothing.

The fridge was the same as before. The couch looked just as comfortable. Everything was...too normal.

Goosebumps prickled across his flesh in one crawling wave as he took a breath and realized exactly where the puzzle was. Exactly where he’d die.

His bedroom.

Of course.

Of course he would choose the place that meant most to Ethan. Of course he’d choose where Mia had slept, where Mia had cried, where Mia had laughed at his quips and snuggled up to him and wept over her love for him.

But Ethan was ready. He opened the door and faced death.

__________________________________

And apparently, death had the form of a freshly-washed Lucas all snuggled up in Ethan’s bed, looking pleased with whatever he was dreaming. He looked peaceful for the first time. Younger. A soft smile graced his sharp features all of a sudden, and Ethan caught himself wondering what had just happened in his dream. _Oh God, he was_ dreaming. Because he was _human._ He dreamt and ate and laughed and cried and smiled and snuggled like everyone else. 

And then it hit him: he was not going to be killed today. Lucas hadn’t set any trap. Only two hours ago, he’d tried to kill him twice. He had failed both times. And Ethan had witnessed how frantic and frenetic he had been when hunting for a bandage. How positively he had reacted to physical touch, even when it was just comparing hand sizes. And then another fact hit him: Lucas was _never_ going to kill him. He was just a guy that wanted control and power, a guy that had gotten sick with it, had nearly died from it. And now he had agreed to trying to get better.

And suddenly Ethan was a whimpering, teary mess with whiplash from the blunt force of these facts hitting him, and now Lucas was awake and blinking blearily at him, so imperfect and human and _real._

“Why’re you cryin’?”

Ethan just smiled and shook his head. This caused Lucas to roll his eyes, and they caught on Ethan’s trachea. He looked upset. 

“You fuckin’ idiot. Your bandage came off in the shower.”

“Oh. That’s gross.”

“No, it’s _dangerous,_ dumbass!” He heaved himself out of bed and clambered back into the bathroom to fetch a fresh one, looking far less intimidating now that he was wearing borrowed clothing. Ethan watched with a twinkle in his eye. He was alive, so alive, and everything was new and gleaming and wonderful because of it.

Lucas had _just_ finished applying the bandage-- with perhaps even more care than before -- when Ethan shrugged his jacket on and slipped into his shoes. 

“Finally time for the grocery store!”

Lucas sagged and groaned like a child being dragged to the dentist. “Aw fuck. I forgot about that.”

“Come on, Lucas! It’s a field trip! And you can even pick out one thing you like.”

“I’m not a fuckin’ kid.” But he was already deciding what to choose.

___________________________________________

Lucas gave a stuttering gasp when they entered the grocery store. Cold fluorescent lights glared at him, aisles and aisles of junk food and healthy food and canned food towered above him, and people bustled around like sardines, and oh _God_ there were _so many people,_ so many people just eyeing him and they _knew_ about him, they knew _everything_ and they would turn him in to the police and lock him up and send him to the chair and _screech with laughter as he got electrocuted to death and they--_

A gentle hand cupped his shoulder, grounding him. He looked up to see a secret smile.

“You okay? I hate shopping too.”

“Yeah.” He averted his eyes. “Let’s get it over with.”

Ethan led him through looming shelves full of brands Lucas had never even heard of, with labels that were painted with colors that were too neon and fonts that were too big. He focused on the way Ethan’s hand looked when it gripped the cart’s handlebar, and things seemed a little less loud.

They came to the produce section, and Lucas’s eyes widened. He hadn’t seen fresh fruit in _so damn long_. Swallowing back his surplus of saliva, he approached a fat, plump tomato, snatched it up, feeling its heft in his palm, and then pressed a finger pad against it. The red skin was deliciously taut. He carefully and teasingly scraped it with a sharp fingernail. Nothing. No flies burst out of it. No worms wriggled below its skin. So he pricked it with the nail and it bled sweet liquid. Its juices trickled down its curved body and onto his hand. Interesting. He put it in the cart. 

The candy shelves were the strangest part. There were hundreds of different kinds, and the queerest thing of all was that they blatantly advertised how revolting they were. For instance, one packet of unnaturally neon green gummies read, “TOO SOUR TO HANDLE! EXTREME!”. 

“Why would anyone like this shit?”

He hadn’t realized that he’d said it aloud until Ethan replied.

“Only little kids do. But here’s a really good kind.” He handed Lucas a bag with words in cursive on it. “These are my favorite. Caramel on the outside, and milk chocolate on the inside.”

“Hm.”

He put it in the cart next to the tomato. 

The strange pair traveled through an entire passage made of walls of vodka and wine and beer. Lucas wrung out his hands, wiped his sweaty palms on his--Ethan’s-- jeans, and when Ethan bought three packs of cheap liquor out of habit, he snuck one back on the shelf when he wasn’t looking. _It’s because I don’t want to deal with getting beat up,_ Lucas told himself.

“Hey, you have a deep-fryer?”

Ethan looked over and cocked a brow. “Why?”

Lucas seemed awkward now. “Just answer, dipshit.”

An elderly lady that was nearby narrowed her eyes, gave a huff, and pointedly strutted off.

“Yeah, I have one.” He’d gotten it to attempt a donut bake-off with Mia for her 30th birthday. Now it occured to him that she would never age past 32 now, while he himself would turn 34 and then 35 and keep going and going.

He glanced over to where Lucas had been a second ago. Nobody was there. He spun on his heel to find him all the way at the end of the aisle, apparently scouring the shelves for a specific treasure. He was biting his lip. Ethan stared.

The strange creature returned bearing a bottle of sweet tea.

“What’s that for?”

Lucas shook his head, dumped it in the cart, and left again. Ethan didn’t question it, and instead continued down his list, milling about and procuring items that he figured a normal, mentally sound person ought to have, like eggs, milk, vegetable oil, and flour. Maybe one day, he’d be normal again, and be able to act like he’d never lost a leg, stuck it back on, killed monsters, and been saved by a man in a helicopter.

Periodically, the elusive animal would return with products such as cornmeal, buttermilk, raw chicken, and hot sauce in his hands. He appeared to be on a mission, so Ethan didn’t interrupt.

The final ingredient was an expensive phone charger, apparently. When he protested, he was reminded of the promise that Lucas was allowed to get a treat in exchange for being an emotional support escort, so he shut up.

On the drive home, Ethan was quiet, so Lucas filled the car with constant prattling.

“God, if I had known that I’d be staying at your house for so long, I woulda brought my toolbox. It’s big and red and oh, it’s awful heavy so I don’t tend to bring it most places. I mean, it’s been an awful long time since I’ve been ‘cross the highway, y’know. Last time, it was for a wedding. Ha! Weddings are pretty dumb. Who cares about another man and lady gettin’ married? That happens every day. I really don’t understand why people wanna announce their love or whatever to everyone. Hey, didja know that two men can get married now?”

He fell silent, now jittery and anxious.

“Hey. Hey, uh, why aren’t you talkin’?” A nervous chuckle. “You’re lettin’ me talk on and on. What, do you like listenin’ to me talk about literally nothin’?”

Lucas never considered that Ethan was quiet for exactly that reason.

When they arrived home, Lucas shooed Ethan into his own room. “I’ll put the groceries away. You just go...sleep or somethin’. Whatever you do.”

“What? I don’t even sleep here anymore, remember? Hey, why are you trying to get me to leave?” He was suspicious.

Lucas wrung out his hands. “Stop makin’ this so hard, dipshit!” He looked him in the eye. “Just. Just trust me, okay?”

And maybe it was a stupid thing to do, but Lucas’s eyes were an unfair shade of blue, and Ethan decided to trust him.

Over the next hour, he dutifully clacked away on his keyboard, troubleshooting a software program. For the first time since he could remember, however, he wasn’t able to throw himself wholly into his work. Instead, he caught himself musing about what the hell Lucas was doing.

At 6:30PM, Lucas burst into the room with a loud _“GOTCHA!”_ , startling a yell of shock out of his poor victim. He scanned Ethan pragmatically and looked dismayed. “Damn. Thought you’d be jerkin’ one out.” He rocked back on his heels. “Anyway, dumbass, where the hell do you think you’re gonna put all the shit that needs to be refrigerated?”

“First of all, rude. Second, in the mini fridge near the tall lamp. Why?”

“You ask too many questions.” And with that he was gone.

Ten minutes later, he burst in again, face twisted with conflict.

“Where are the trays?”

“What kind?”

“Just bakin’ trays.”

“For cooking bacon? You guys have that in the South?”

“No, dumbass! For BAK-ING.” He glared, but Ethan looked full of mirth rather than fear.

“They’re in a weird place. I’ll go get them.” He moved to leave the room, and Lucas blocked him instantly.

“No. Just tell me where they are, Ethan.”

“I _told you,_ they’re in a weird place. Why are you being so secretive?”

“Just tell me!”

Ethan pushed him aside effortlessly and breezed into the kitchen. His jaw dropped.

A bowl of delectable fried chicken was proudly placed in the middle of the kitchen table, its tantalizing smell wafting through the air. Coarsely chopped coleslaw rested in a smaller bowl beside it. A container of a thick, richly chestnut-colored sauce was placed to the side. Two place settings faced one another, each complete with a glass poured full with sunset-hued sweet tea.

“Oh, _Lucas.”_ Ethan gaped at him. Lucas bristled with frustration, but he ignored it. “Oh my God, Lucas! It smells absolutely amazing! Holy fuck. Did you do all of this just for me?”

“The cornbread,” he spat, “was sup _posed_ to be in the _oven!”_ He glared at a bowl of yellowish batter that primply sat atop the pre-heated stove. “I was _going_ to say, _’And that’s not all, there’s also cornbread bakin’ in the oven!’”_

Ethan made an awfully cute squeaking noise in the back of his throat. “That is _so_ sweet!”

“If you had fuckin’ told me where the damn bakin’ trays were, it would’ve been sweeter.” He kicked the kitchen tiles with a socked foot and winced. He wasn’t used to being susceptible to pain. He felt warm hands on his shoulders, and he raised his gaze.

“Hey. It’s perfect.”

He couldn’t help but stupidly grin, melting like butter from those twinkling puppy-dog eyes and secret smile. “Oh, shut the hell up and get the damn bakin’ tray.”

Ethan obeyed without question, which Lucas found to be to his liking, and soon the cornbread was in the oven. He nudged Lucas. “Say the line.”

“Huh? The cornbread thing? Fuck no. Sit your ass down.”

They sat down at the table, and for a second, Ethan had a flashback of the last time he had been at the dinner table with Lucas. It lasted but a moment, but was noticed by a watchful blue eye.

“What’s wrong? Do you like a different sauce? They didn’t have the right shit at the store and I had to improvise and I-”

“Oh, Lucas, no, no, no! I already told you, it’s perfect. I just. It’s just so _nice,_ doing this. Thank you for making such a lovely dinner. I didn’t even know you could cook.”

The chicken was crispy and so tender that it practically fell off the bone. Ethan drenched a savoury wing into the thick, smoky sauce, and he felt like he would faint with pleasure; he gave a satisfied groan. Lucas looked away, face rosy as he sucked the sauce off a bone. He released it from his lips with a pop.

“My mama taught me. She thought I didn’t pay attention, but I did.”

“Do you miss her?”

“I...I dunno. She was real nice. Like, too nice. My old man would be an ass and she would be too nice to say anythin’.” He looked up. “Do you miss Mia?”

“Not as much as I should.” It came out in a jumble of words that surprised even him. “Fuck. I didn’t mean to say that.” His eyes were wide and scared as he glanced up from his coleslaw, but Lucas gave him a comforting shrug.

“It’s okay. She knew that you liked guys.”

He nearly choked on a piece of cabbage. His eyes bulged. “She _what?!”_

Lucas was painfully nonchalant. “Oh, nothin’. She talked a lot to herself when she thought nobody was listenin’. Or when she stopped carin’ when they did.” He casually took an agonizingly long swig of sweet tea. “But she knew you were into men, and she was fine that you were bisex-all or whatever it’s called. She told Zoe that she wished you had felt comfortable comin’ out to her.”

“Fuck.” He held his head in his hands. “I’ve made so many mistakes.”

“Hey, no, it’s okay. You can still tell people. Like, tell me. Right now.” He figured it would be good for their bonding.

Ethan straightened up and swallowed back his nerves. “It feels stupid.”

“No, no. Pretend I’m Mia. Just tell me. Here, I’ll even play the part.” He batted his eyelashes and blew him a kiss. 

“Okay. Hey, Mia, I have something to tell you. I like girls. I mean, you know that because you’re a girl.”

“Yes, and we have had lots of sex, sugar.” Lucas simpered.

“Stop it.” He rolled his eyes. “Anyway. But I like guys too, and I hope that’s okay. I know that I didn’t get to tell you when you were alive, and I’m so sorry about that. But now you know.”

Lucas clapped his hands. “Wonderful! I accept you. Now let’s go have sex.” He wiggled his eyebrows, and Ethan laughed at him, then threw a stray slice of carrot at his chest. In retaliation, Lucas threw a chunk of lettuce at his face, and suddenly he remembered how Lucas looked when he threw human innards at his face. And how he watched as Jack Baker tried to forcefeed him, and then shoved a knife into his throat. And he did _nothing._

Lucas cocked his head. “Are you sad that I attacked you with lettuce instead of carrot? I can try again, y’know.”

“Why did you just watch as they tried to kill me? Hell, _you_ even tried to kill me. Why are you being so nice to me?”

_Because I need to become close to you so that it’ll hurt when I finally kill you._

“Because I wasn’t in my right mind then. I know that you read my stupid journal, but Eveline made me even more wrong in the head than that. And, and I’m tryin’ to get better, okay? I’m tryin’ to become an okay person, because I know that I didn’t just pop outta my mama’s womb being a murderer. And you’re the nicest person I know. Hell, you risked your life for some girl. And anyway, I can’t kill you. You know that.”

Ethan did. He smiled down at his plate while Lucas took the cornbread out of the oven.

He groaned in protest. “I’m already so full!”

Lucas grinned at him. “Oh, I can show you _full_ , Ethan.”

_”LUCAS!”_

And the two overgrown boys chased each other around the house, stupid and happy and alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I hope you ate enough today and drank enough water today. You've got to remember to take care of yourself. <3


	4. Two Presents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {{AN: Hello, hello! CW for gory descriptions of violence.}}

CHAPTER FOUR

Lucas and Ethan were very efficient individuals. Exhibit A: They went over logistics while they ate their cornbread.

Ethan took a large bite, paused for a moment to savor the rich sweet flavor, and spoke once he had swallowed because his mother had taught him that way. “Are you going by a different name these days?”

Lucas cocked a suspicious brow. “Who’s askin’?”

“I am. Lucas, if someone comes to visit, I need to be able to tell them why there’s a random man in my house.”

A scoff. “Nobody’s comin’ to visit, dumbass.”

“My friends might.”

“You have friends?”

Silence.

“...we’re not as close as we used to be. But that’s exactly why I’m preparing-- I’ll be inviting them over one day. Maybe. At least I have some.” He looked pointedly at Lucas.

“Hey! I’ve got plenty!”

“Where? Back in that biohazard of a swamp in Louisiana?”

“No. Right here.” He waved his phone in the air. “One of ‘em lives nearby.”

Ethan’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Ooh! You gonna ask him to pay a visit?”

“Why would I? We text. That’s enough socialization.”

“Oh, come on. You should invite him to have lunch with us or something. Oh! Or a picnic! That would be very classy.”

With a narrowed brow, “Why are you tryin’ to get me to hang out with other people all of a sudden? Tryin’ to ditch me, Ethan? It ain’t happenin’, so don’t try.”

“I don’t want to get rid of you.” And Ethan’s face was so earnest and gentle that Lucas’s frosty exterior melted away like butter. “I just want you to have some friends. It’s important to have some people to hang out with besides me.”

“There ain’t nothin’ wrong with you, though.”

“There’s a lot wrong with me.” A bitter laugh. “Anyway, stop dodging the question, Lucas. Are you going by an alibi?”

“Tons. Just use ‘Luke’ for everythin’, though. Phillip--that’s my online pal--knows me as Lucas.”

“What last name should I use? Wait.” He put his fork down with a clink. “Aren’t you worried that he’ll figure things out?”

“Oh, he won’t.” He waved the idea off with a languid flip of his wrist. “Use...use, uh, Green. Luke Green. Ain’t that a pretty byline!”

With a sigh, Ethan took another bite of cornbread to appease the churning whirlwind of anxiety that pulsed in his heart. “I’m worried that you’re not being careful enough.” Another bite. “Should I tell people that you’re a friend or something?” A third bite. He appeared to be stress-eating.

“Last I checked, it ain’t normal for friends to be livin’ together. I sleep in your bed.” He wiggled his eyebrows and winked. 

Ethan rolled his eyes but laughed. “It’s called having a roommate. We’ll be roommates. Sound good?”

Lucas nodded and offered a thumbs-up.

And they were roommates.

_________________________________

Finally, one of the most eventful days of Ethan’s life was coming to an end. As he brushed his teeth, he reflected on everything that had occurred. He had been nearly murdered twice-- or was it three times? --, had gone shopping with his attempted-murderer, had eaten his homemade meal (oh fuck, it made him salivate just to remember it!), and had become roommates with him. He spat the toothpaste into the sink, but still wasn’t able to rid himself of the strange distinct taste in the back of his mouth-- the taste of a painful truth.

As he slipped into a thin shirt and shorts, he digested the peculiar feeling and consequently realized that this was one of the healthiest days he had gone through in months. He had brushed his teeth twice, changed clothes, gone to the store, eaten a nourishing homemade meal, had laughed, and had socialized. And that was the thing that he couldn’t stop thinking about-- the damn socialization. Because he hadn’t talked with someone so freely in forever. Whenever he spoke to his coworkers, aqquaintances, or even friends, their conversations would be utterly covered in an underlying glaze of pity. It glinted in their pouting lips and upset eyes, hissing, “Oh, I am _ever_ so sorry that that wife of yours died. I am _so_ sorry that you had to go through that whole shitshow we read about through the safety of our phones. And I am _always_ here to talk.”

But when most people tell you that they’re always there to talk, they never mean it. It’s a phrase that they blurt out like clockwork, as easily ejected as “how was your day” or “hello”. And so, for the past two months, Ethan hadn’t _really_ talked to anyone at all, because there had been nobody truly there to talk with him.

And here was Lucas. Here he was, sitting on the bed and wearing Ethan’s clothes still, even though he now had his own. 

“You’re starin’.”

“What? Sorry, I was spacing out, I-”

“I don’t mind it.” Lucas had no malice in his eyes. The wall of sharp quips and sarcasm had dissolved. Oh God, they were so unfairly blue, like robins’ eggs and winter mornings and pebbles on a streambed. He was watching Ethan expectantly, but the poor man was at a loss for words; he was lost in those damn eyes.

Lucas arched his back and cracked it, and Ethan was snapped out of his wonderful alternate universe. 

“The fuck? Why was that so loud?”

He flashed a toothy grin. “Crunchy bones, baby.”

“Don’t say that again.”

“Or what?” 

Ethan paused. He hadn’t considered that Lucas would challenge him. His eyes found the pillow. “Or I’ll take your pillows and you’ll have to sleep without any.”

Sighing, Lucas stretched out on the bed and gazed up at the ceiling, a wordless resignation.

Ethan laid down beside him, heart thumping. He chanced a quick peek at Lucas, but those striking eyes were closed. “It’s been a long day, huh?”

“Yeah. God, I’m tired.” His words trudged along; his speech was slowing as he ebbed toward slumber. 

“You should sleep.”

“Mmmm, yeah.”

A comfortable silence.

“Mmmmm, Ethan?”

“Yeah, Lucas?”

“I don’t get tired....with other people.”

“What do you mean?” He turned to read his expression, but he looked practically asleep. He could have been a peaceful garden statue.

Lucas’s voice carried through the air once more. “Like....like, I sleep...I sleep alone. Can’t sleep with people ‘round....never have been able to....don’t trust ‘em.........I trust you.”

“Oh, Lucas.” He wanted to reach out and touch him, but didn’t want to risk snapping him out of his trance of tranquility.

“You’re safe. Yeah....you’re safe. You...you smell like safety and warmth...and fall leaves and fireplaces.” His body relaxed even further, and he slipped into sleep.

“Goodnight, Lucas,” Ethan whispered softly, an unfamiliar warmth filling his chest. He heaved himself out of bed with the utmost care as to not disturb the unconscious beast, reluctant to leave. After pulling the blanket over Lucas, he left.

As he settled down on the uncomfortably bumpy couch, it became painfully apparent that it had been much warmer in the other room. But oh, what did it matter? He had gone through worse things. And then the smell settled down around him.

The stench of gasoline and guts infiltrated his nostrils, saturating them, staining them like it had done to the floorboards. It was such a thick odor that it bored into his temples and gave birth to a hell of a headache. It would have been bearable if not for the fact that there was absolutely nothing to think about besides _it is so warm where Lucas is_ and _it doesn’t smell like literal death where Lucas is_ and _Lucas is where Lucas is_. 

For what felt like hours and hours, Ethan battled his instincts and resisted the urge to give up on sleeping on the couch. Eventually, though, his sleep-deprived, hopeless romantic of a mind convinced him that Lucas wouldn’t even notice him there. That he could just leave early in the morning, and Lucas wouldn’t know a thing. And the foolish, exhausted man believed himself.

The second he entered the bedroom, he relaxed. He crept into bed beside Lucas, ever so sneaky and sly. And oh, Lucas was _so damn warm,_ and he found himself acting as the big spoon, curling around the smaller man like he was protecting him. Thank God Lucas was asleep.

But the foolish himbo was wrong, for Lucas’s eyes glittered contentedly in the darkness.

______________________________

The next morning, Lucas woke and was surrounded in the smells of safety and warmth, and fall leaves and fireplaces. He closed his eyes again, reveling in the feeling of being in heaven for one more delightful moment. Everything was perfect.

He glanced at the empty spot beside him. 

Except that. 

He checked the clock-- it was 2 PM. Ethan was at work or whatever.

For a full hour, Lucas milled around the house, finding the best locations to set traps, and also the best-tasting apples they had bought the previous day. After a while, though, he grew bored and went on his phone. The time read 2:30 PM. But Lucas’s phone also displayed the day of the week. And it was a Saturday.

“Ethan?” His voice sounded tinny and feeble. He hated it, but not as much as he hated the absence of an answer. 

He scoured the entire house for him, but came up short. Freaking out, he instinctively whipped out his phone. His number wasn’t there. Fuck. They never swapped numbers.

“Fuckin’ dumbass bastard bitch.” He’d be home soon. 

He better be.

Determined to not give a fuck, Lucas distracted himself by texting Phillip.

Saw_Syntax: Hey  
CaptainCrap09: yooooo where u been  
Saw_Syntax: I moved to CA a day ago. We live really close. Wanna grab lunch?

He wiped his palms on his jeans--Ethan’s jeans, really--and re-read what he had written. It sounded sketchy and creepy and undeniably Lucas. He needed to fix it.

Saw_Syntax: Berkshire park at 2PM tomorrow? I promise I’m not a creep

That was debatable.

Saw_Syntax: Dude reply  
Saw_Syntax: Dude  
CaptainCrap09: ey sounds good! excited to finally meet u in person lmao  
CaptainCrap09: why did u move   
Saw_Syntax: Needed a new start  
CaptainCrap09: what r we gonna eat  
Saw_Syntax: I’ll bring food. I’ll also bring my roommate if that’s ok

Because he couldn’t imagine going anywhere without Ethan now, despite it only having been a day. It felt weird being apart like this. Fuck, he better return soon. Oh God, what if he said no to coming along and meeting up with Phillip? Fuck.

CaptainCrap09: k sounds good  
Saw_Syntax: He’s good. You’ll like him

As if on cue, the front door unlocked and there was a familiar-sounding grunt.

Saw_Syntax: gtg

Lucas had never typed so quickly as he did right then. He restrained himself to a hopefully casual fast-walk and made his way over to the living room. Ethan had dropped five plastic bags on the ground, and was holding a box-y shape wrapped in paper that was robin’s egg blue.

Lucas crossed his arms and glared him down. “What the _fuck_ do you think you just did?”

“Uh. I legit just went and ran an errand.”

“You didn’t even tell me!” Anger sharpened each word.

“You were sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you.” His eyes were gentle. Patient.

“B-but. But I couldn’t even call you or text you or anythin’ because I don’t even have your damn number!”

“Give it to me.”

“What? Give you dick? We’ve only been roommates for a day, but alright. I’m down to fuck.”

“No, you horny bastard. Give me your phone. I’ll put my number in.” He offered an expectant hand.

Stunned at how serene Ethan was, Lucas numbly obeyed, watching as he took it, typed the digits in, and handed it back. 

Lucas awkwardly gestured to all of the bulky bags. “What’s all this?”

Beaming with pride and practically radiating happiness, Ethan cried, “It’s for you! You can’t just wear my clothes forever. So I went and got you some of your own!”

Looking strangely crestfallen, Lucas mumbled, “Oh. What’s in the box?”

“That’s also for you.” He held it out now, looking anxious. “I hope you like it.”

“But it’s not my birthday or anythin’.” 

“Yeah, well, I don’t know when that is. It’s a--”

“December 4th,” he interrupted. Ethan rewarded him with that damn secret smile, his eyes brightening. 

“Mmm. I’ll remember. It’s a housewarming gift, then. Now open it!”

Lucas took it in his hands, unprepared for its hefty weight. It slammed onto the floor with a loud _CLANK-thud!_ Interest piqued, he tore open the wrapping paer to reveal a sizable toolbx painted a rich red. 

“You got me a new toolbox,” he said softly, running his long fingers over its surface as if to convince himself that it was truly real.

“Yeah. I felt bad after you talked about how you wished you had brought your old one. I want you to feel at home, y’know?”

His tender words fell into a chasm of silence. No response. He nervously shifted his feet. “If...if you don’t like it, I can bring it--”

He stopped as Lucas raised his head, gazing up at him with the brightest, most teary blue eyes. The toolbox was clutched to his chest so tightly that it appeared that he was afraid of it being snatched away. It was precious to him. “Oh, Ethan. No. Don’t return it. Don’t even think about doin’ that. Jesus Christ, I love this thing. God, I ain’t good with words. I...fuck. Thank you, y’know? Thank you.”

Ethan’s grin was brighter than the sun. “Oh, thank God! You had me scared for a second there.” 

Lucas perked up. “I just remembered-- I’ve got a present for you, too.”

“It’s not a cake that’ll blow me up, is it? Or an exploding fridge?”

“Oh, ha-ha. Very funny. It’s this.” He proudly presented his phone screen, which displayed the chat. “I invited Phillip to a picnic!”

Ever the pleased parent, Ethan beamed, and suddenly all of the stress was worth it. “That’s great! Are you gonna walk there?”

“Uh. That’s a funny question. I was kinda hopin’ you’d drive me.”

“No problem.”

“...and stay for a few minutes.”

“Will do.”

“...and then for the rest of the entire thing.”

“Lucasss!” The way he drew out the name absolutely ruined him in the best way-- he needed to hear it again. “Then it won’t be just you and Phil or whatever-his-name-is hanging out! It’s the first time you guys are meeting in person, yeah? Then it would be weird for you to bring someone else.”

Face full of fear, Lucas began to wring his hands out. “Are you sayin’ you won’t go?” His eyes were the color of tears and fright. Ethan’s heart shattered into a million pieces.

“Oh, Lucas, of course I’ll go.” He took out his phone, the calendar app open and awaiting the new event. “When is it?”

“2PM tomorrow.”

“LUCAS, WHAT THE HELL?!” Ethan’s jaw dropped comically low. “You can’t just spring this on me the day before!!! What kind of person makes such last-minute plans? Jesus! You are literally nuts! I can’t believe you! Are...are you walking away from me right now? Get back over here, you trash bastard.”

Lucas grinned devilishly from the hallway, his arms full of bags, balancing the toolbox precariously on top of them, pinned under his chin. “I’m puttin’ my things away. Am I not allowed to clean up ‘round here?” 

Ethan had to admit that he was, in fact, allowed to clean up. He helplessly followed him into the bedroom, where Lucas was now staring at the dresser drawers. They were full of Mia’s blouses, Mia’s shirts, Mia’s pants, Mia’s socks. He turned to look back at Ethan.

“There ain’t any room for my things. We’re gonna have to get rid of her shit.” For once, his face wasn’t mocking or snide. He was more solemn and composed than a judge, and perhaps that comparison was the reason why Ethan numbly nodded and followed orders; it felt silly to fight.

He gathered up her things in plastic bags, gradually removing all traces of her fashion taste from the house, until the dresser was gutted, bare, and hollow. Exactly how he felt. 

“Hey.” A hand was on his shoulder. This was the first time that Lucas had ever made physical contact on his own accord, not having been prompted to by a suggestion or a bleeding wound. It was enough to snap him out of his requiem. Lucas’s voice had an unfamiliar gentle tone. “I know that shit was hard to do.”

Ethan gave a weak smile. “You’re a better person than you want to be.”

Lucas retracted his hand, brows narrowing, and busied himself with shoving his unfolded clothes--Ethan had cut the tags off--into their respectable drawers. Ethan could practically hear the cogs turning in that brilliant head of his; he was undeniably upset about not being the villain he had tried to personify. When he spoke, his words were forcefully cool. “I can scare you, y’know.” He didn’t stop putting away clothing. 

Ethan didn’t respond, just tucked Mia’s old clothing beside the pile of things to donate. He hadn’t been truly afraid of Lucas since everything had gone down. Not since the appeal of being alive had slipped from his fingertips. He patiently watched as Lucas finished with his task, approached him, and stood with his face inches away from his own. His eyes were that dreadfully familiar glacier-blue. 

“You _should_ be afraid of me.” His voice was a rough whisper, each malicious word spat out like the lash of a whip. “You know what I wanna do to you? I’ll take a needle. Cover you with holes. I’ll use a saw to nicely chop each pretty finger off.”

Ethan stared into his eyes unwaveringly.

“I--I’ll tie you up. Carve my name into your skin with scissors. Then I’ll peel away your skin like it’s cellophane, gape open your mouth, and force-feed you.”

Ethan stared.

“And, and, and You won’t know if the liquid on your chin is your blood, your spit, or your fuckin’ tears.”

Nothing.

Lucas fucking snapped. 

There was no way to wrap Ethan around his finger. He wasn’t able to scare him, and so he had no control. He had no fucking control at all. Fucking _helpless_ , with his scrawny arms and skinny body. Never able to put up a fight when his old man decided to paint him and his mama with bruises. Fucking useless excuse for a man. _Fuckinguselessfuckinguselessfuckinguseless._ He collapsed to the ground with an agonized cry, and as he glared upwards, he caught Ethan’s eyes. Those stupid puppy eyes were absolutely drenched in fear. And suddenly it clicked. He couldn’t scare Ethan by trying to hurt Ethan. He had to scare Ethan by trying to hurt _himself._

_If I cry, he’ll hurt for real._ It didn’t take much. Lucas just reflected upon an image of his mama dying, and suddenly he was crying as well as any actor. Ethan dropped to his knees, arms immediately wrapping around Lucas like it was second nature, pressing him to his warm chest -- _safety &warmth&fallleaves&fireplaces_ \-- and _fuck, he hadn’t been hugged in decades._ And the tears became real. Lucas shuddered and buried his wet face into Ethan’s soft T-shirt. He was surrounded by warmth, comfort, and gentleness. And Lucas broke.

“Wh-why...why didn’t you stop me when I was sayin’ all that awful shit to you?” Although it was muffled by fabric, his voice was still audibly wavery.

Lucas couldn’t see Ethan’s face right then, but could hear that secret smile in his voice anyhow. “Because you needed to get it out of your system in order to heal.” He no longer sounded so obnoxiously composed, but on the edge of falling apart. Something hidden deep inside Lucas’s chest twanged painfully.

“I, I, I...fuck, I can’t fuckin’ talk right. I promise I’m tryin’ to get better.” And he truly didn’t know if he was lying or not. “I promise, I promise, I promise. And it’s not fuckin’ workin’, and I’m just...” With a rough sob that shook his whole body, he leaned back to look at Ethan. “I mean, Oliver’s right. Isn’t he? I’m a crazyhead.” Lucas’s bottom lip was trembling. He had never looked so utterly vulnerable.

Ethan wiped furiously at his own eyes. “Oh, Lucas. Oh, sweetie, come here.” He hugged Lucas and refused to let him squirm away. “Lucas. You can heal, okay? It’s...it’s going to be hard. I wouldn’t lie to you. God, I would _never_ lie to you.” And his eyes teared up with truth. “But you and me? We can do it. I’m broken. You’re broken. Let’s get fixed together.”

And the broken man was clutched to his chest so tightly that it appeared that he was afraid of him being snatched away. He was precious to him.


	5. Social Interaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ;) ehehe it finally happens (no, not that)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh loves, I'm so sorry for the long wait! I do hope it's worth it. I'm playing Captain Hook and Mr. Darling in a production of Peter Pan right now, and I'm busy memorizing lines and blocking.
> 
> The part of this chapter about looking down at the stars is paraphrased from an excerpt of "Developing Ecological Consciousness: The End of Separation" by Christopher Uhl! Fantastic book-- highly recommended! 
> 
> I love you guys! Stay safe out there. <3

“God, Lucas, for the last time! Is Phillip a vegetarian?!”

Lucas rolled his eyes at him, giving an aloof shrug. “Who knows? Who cares?” He had been an asshole all day, and it was only 11 AM. Ethan’s nerves were frayed to shreds by now.

“For fuck’s sake! Is he? I bet he is, and you’re not telling me just so that some good food will go bad after he refuses to eat the meat sandwich.”

Another shrug. But his expression was strange now. Cold. Calculated.

“You’re the most annoying man I’ve ever met. I hate you,” Ethan snapped, and was storming past him when a blur of navy blue moved towards him, and suddenly he was pressed up against the wall, those pine-tree-colored puppy-dog eyes all big and innocent and startled. Lucas’s face was inches away from his own. He would be able to lean close and kiss his hooked nose if it weren’t for Lucas’s hands pinning him back. _Don’t think about that, idiot! Speak!_ “H-hey, there,” he managed, out of breath.

The man’s eyes flashed a piercing icy blue and barked a sharp order. “What did you call me?” 

“What?” A nervous laugh that tried to ease the tension, but only made Lucas grip his shirt more tightly in his fists. 

“You ain’t stupid, Ethan. Now repeat what you said to me.”

“I...” He frantically searched that blank stare for mirth, for genuine anger, for anything that might explain why Lucas was randomly acting so strangely. Nothing. And the stalling cost him; Lucas slipped a hand around his neck, his long fingers curling over his Adam’s apple, his jugular, and those two precious major blood vessels. The pressure wasn’t gentle-- it was merely restrained. Banging at a flimsy door.

The man spoke in a rough, hushed whisper. “Tell me, _bitch.”_

“I called you annoying!” He squirmed to get away, and the fingers grew less forgiving.

“Keep talking.”

“And! And I said I hated you! Why-- why are you acting like this? You’ve been weird _all day._ ”

“Do you hate me, Ethan? Do you mean it, you little fucker?” 

“What! Of course not! Dude, I was just annoyed.”

The grip on his neck remained aggressively tight. Lucas appeared to be testing out his strength.

“Ethan,” he purred, leaning closer and touching the tip of his nose to Ethan’s, “do you think I’ll hurt you?”

“No.” And Lucas’s eyes flashed with violence. 

“What did you say?”

“I said no.” He steeled himself and faced the facts head-on. “You would never hurt me. Not anymore.” The hand around his neck issued a warning squeeze, and he narrowed his eyes. “Stop playing games. I know it’s all you ever want to do. But stop fucking testing me for weak points, because you won’t find them. Stop trying to scare me, because it won’t work. We’re not in your house anymore. We’re in mine. If you wanted to kill me badly enough to actually do the damn thing, then you would’ve done it two months ago.”

Silence. Lucas released him but didn’t leave.

“I don’t think you _want_ to kill me. That’s the thing. You feel like you have to. I thought about it for a long time last night and I realized that you kill because that’s how you stay in control. And that’s why you have me in this position right now-- to control me. But the funny thing is, you can’t control me. If you could, it wouldn’t make you happy.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?!” He sounded like a furious country bumpkin. That is to say, he sounded like himself again.

“What it means is, should I make vegetarian sandwiches or meat ones?”

“...meat.”

Ethan smiled at him, and saw the shadow of a grin reflecting back to him on Lucas’s face before he hid it and disappeared down the hallway.

________________________________

When he reached his room, Lucas locked the door, collapsed onto the bed, and screamed bloody murder into his pillow. _Jesus fucking CHRIST why couldn’t he kill the damn guy?!_ He had tortured, murdered, and torn apart too many living beings to count, but now that it was some man with a stupidly good heart and stupidly good looks, he was lost. 

_You would never hurt me._

He was desperate to prove Ethan wrong, but knew that any murder attempts in the near future would fail. He was just too emotionally connected. That was it-- their emotional connection was stopping him from completing his work. He needed to associate killing Ethan with the absence of emotion, and that meant facts and dates.

Fact: Lucas would eventually have to kill Ethan.

Date: Ethan’s birthday. 

It would be a twisted, cruel reprise of the old “Happy Birthday” puzzle. He just needed to find out when that _was,_ exactly. Oh, yes, and he would have those same balloons and yes, some dynamite, and maybe a spring-loaded contraption of some sort...where would he take cover? Maybe downstairs, but then he wouldn’t be able to watch...well, he could connect some cameras and string them along and--

“Ow! That’s the last time I’m cutting lettuce with a steak knife! Jesus!” Ethan’s melodramatic wail of pain from the kitchen.

It was not lost on Lucas, how his heart wrenched and how his mouth frowned and how he nearly sprang up to go check on the poor man. And then he looked downcast to his scribbled-out schematics and sketches, blinking helplessly as he realized that he had drawn out an entire death system without even knowing it. His hand had practically moved on its own. 

_”Shit.”_ He gathered up his knees and hugged them to his chest, rocking back and forth, back and forth. _Calm down, calm down, calmdowncalmdowncalmdown,_ his heartbeat was so quick and terrified that he felt it _slamming_ against his legs, and Ethan’s corpse will _slam_ onto the floor, and fuckfuckfuck, it wasn’t _right,_ how easy it had been to click that switch and become the machine of calculations, coldness, and cruelty that he had been before, and fuck it was so easy to just _be the machine, forget the human part of you, let your hands do the work, let them work, let them work at the great machine,_ and--

And a knock at the door.

And Ethan’s voice.

“Hey, Luke.”

_He shouldn’t be here it’s not safe I’m not safe I’m going to put him in danger I’m a killing machine oh fuck I gotta get him away from me--_

The door opened, and there were those puppy-dog eyes, all wide and concerned. Those outstretched arms, reaching for the crying man and gathering him up. He held him to the chest and _safety and warmth and fall leaves and fireplaces_. 

“What’s wrong?”

And of course he had to tell him, so he blurted out, “I keep on becomin’ the person I was back then,” and Ethan understood. He ran his fingers through his sparse hair soothingly, and rocked him back and forth, back and forth.

After a little while: “Mmm, the sandwiches are done. Do you wanna still meet up with Phillip, or do you wanna just stay here?”

“Still meet up.” He couldn’t spend another second here with that fucking piece of paper. It was poison and kept seeping its toxic ideas into his mind.

Ethan noticed him staring. “What’s that?” He squinted at the scribbles, quizzical.

Put under the spotlight, Lucas was too nervous to think of anything, so he settled for the truth. “An...an idea for a puzzle.”

“I don’t understand it.”

“I don’t think you ever will.” He drew a shuddering breath, and Ethan gently squeezed him, a polar opposite of the squeeze Lucas had given _him_ just ten minutes prior.

“Are you sure you wanna go?”

“Y-yeah. C’mon.” He heaved himself out of bed, grabbed the prototype sketch, and crumpled it up, crushing it between his fingers. 

As the two left the room, Lucas threw it at the recycling bin. It didn’t go in. 

______________________

Ethan had neatly packed one ham, one vegetarian (just in case), and two turkey sandwiches into a plastic container, along with a metal water bottle, cups, four apples, and a baggie of chocolate chip cookies. He packed all of _that_ neatly into a fabric bag. He would’ve made an excellent father preparing lunches for his kids’ school days.

Lucas now held that fabric bag in his lap as he looked out the window, rambling on as Ethan drove. “See, I’m worried that you won’t like Phillip. He’s kind of annoyin’ from time to time. Or maybe Phillip won’t like _you!_ But I can’t see that happenin’, because you’re really good at social shit. But maybe he won’t like _me!_ What do we even do if that happens?! Oh, Ethan, maybe we should head home...”

Ethan laughed, not unkindly. “We’ll be able to leave whenever you’d like, mkay? And besides, I’ll be there with you the whole time.”

They made eye contact, fall brown meeting winter blue, and Lucas relaxed.

The park was green and gleaming, but devoid of people. Lucas liked it better that way. Even so, he refused to leave the car. Ethan ended up having to drag him out. 

“God, you’re such a-- ow! No nails allowed! -- little kid!”

“I prefer to call it me havin’ a ‘youthful spirit’.” 

They arrived at their designated spot, which was a brilliantly serene grassy field with a towering oak tree watching over it. Little patches of daisies provided bursts of white here and there, perfectly accenting the lush green. But neither of the two men could appreciate how pretty the landscape was, for Phillip was already there, and an intimidating-looking young woman stood beside him. 

With a nervous, too-wide smile full of braces, Phillip stumbled up to Ethan and cocked his head. “Hi, Lucas?”

Ethan shook his head, smiling kindly. “I’m not Lucas. He is.” He pointed to Lucas, who looked mildly offended. 

“CaptainCrap, I _told_ you that I was gonna be wearin’ a _blue_ hoodie! He’s wearin’ a _green_ one! You color blind or somethin’?”

Phillip stared at him with huge eyes. Ethan realized that Lucas must’ve been quite frightening to someone unaccustomed to his appearance. “I didn’t know you had an accent,” he blurted out, “Where are you even from? Texas?”

“Louisiana.” He looked inordinately smug, all too happy to correct him. Ethan shot him a warning glance in an attempt to telepathically order him to be nice. The tension rose.

The poor online friend gestured helplessly to him. “A-and who’s this guy?”

Ethan offered another comforting smile, causing everyone to relax significantly. The hostility in the atmosphere gave way to a sense of familiarity and safety. Ethan just did that to people. “I’m Ethan Winters. Pleasure to meet you! We brought sandwiches. Who did you bring?” He nodded easily to the tough-looking woman, suddenly grateful for all of those tedious “Public Speaking and Building Connections in the Workplace” seminars he had been put through as an employee.

“I’m Aria, and I’m here to watch over this nerd.” She lightly cuffed Philip’s ear, provoking an embarrassed yelp of protest. It was affectionate, however, and it led to Ethan deciding that she must be his scary girlfriend.

Ethan’s grin broadened. “Same here with Lucas and I. I’m not sure how these online meet-ups are supposed to go.”

When Aria extended a hand, her nonprofit organization wristbands swinging, he took it, ignoring Lucas’s piercing glare. “Ugh, exactly! I _told_ him that it was hella sketchy to meet up. Like, how did this Lucas guy even know his address, huh?”

“Time for food!” Lucas declared, worming his way between Aria and Ethan and laying out the picnic blanket. The others followed suit, sitting down in their respective places in order of familiarity, Lucas quickly claiming the spot beside Ethan. Soon everyone was eating and making polite chatter. Ethan complained about work. Aria ranted about how her cats kept on shitting in her bathtub. Phillip gave a long lecture about the special features of the new laptop he had gotten a week ago. And Lucas talked about how he wanted to see what the inside of a meat processing factory looked like. Save for Lucas’s conversation topic, everything felt so _normal_. Work and pets and computers. First-world problems had never felt so good. Nobody was getting killed. Nobody was infected. And nobody had to choose between saving either his wife or the woman that saved him. Ethan hadn’t felt this safe in a long time. 

“Hey Aria, could you pass the water?” Ethan peered down at his empty cup. 

Aria made a move to grab the bottle, but Lucas was too quick and snatched it up instead, pointedly handing it to Ethan. Nobody knew how to respond, so it went unacknowledged. When Ethan tipped his head back and drank the fresh water, he was all-too aware of Lucas’s eyes on his bobbing Adam’s apple, how closely he watched him swallow. This made him nervous, and he focused on getting to know their new friends instead of figuring out why.

Ethan learned that Phillip loved to play video games and to draw, that Aria was an excellent guitarist, and that Lucas really fucking sucked at being friendly to anyone but him. Every time he spoke, it led to an awkward lull in the conversation, wherein everyone would avert their eyes and quietly nibble on their respective sandwiches. It was after one of these uncomfortable silences that Ethan piped up, attempting to begin another conversation.

“You guys are dating, right?” And he regretted it immediately, because Phillip’s eyes went huge and Aria looked absolutely pissed beyond compare. 

“Oh, _hell_ no! I am extremely single.” She gave a pointed toss of her head, curly hair bouncing effortlessly in a way that must have taken weeks to perfect. “You two are a couple, though, right?”

“No. We’re just roommates.” He gave a nervous laugh and avoided looking at Lucas, not wanting to see his expression. “I...hey, I brought some cookies, would anyone like any?”

“Is that even a question?” Aria cried out.

Phillip began wildly hunting around in the picnic basket without a second thought.

Lucas stayed quiet and still.

Ethan turned to offer him a cookie, bracing himself for a painfully guilt-tripping expression, but instead he just looked deep in thought, brows narrowed, eyes latched to the ground. He waved away the treat without even sparing it a glance. That was when Ethan _knew_ something was wrong. _Maybe some exercise will do him good._ He looked up at the oak tree. _Perfect._

“I haven’t climbed a tree since I was a kid,” he began unsteadily, pointedly keeping his gaze on its strong branches. “I wonder if I can still do it.”

Aria’s eyes lit up, and she jumped to her feet. “Let’s climb that one, then! Look, there’s the perfect branch to sit on!” 

Without hesitation, she scrambled up the branches like a squirrel, and was suddenly perched upon the same branch she had pointed at just a minute prior. 

“Jesus Christ, Aria!” Ethan was incredibly impressed.

“Oh, shut the fuck up. I’m just as good,” Lucas snapped, and attempted to do the same. Except, he was wrong. He was an absolutely terrible climber; the bottoms of his shoes constantly skidded off of the bark, he picked the worst, most unwieldy branches to put his weight on, and it was by sheer luck and a little help from Aria guiding him that he finally heaved himself onto the gigantic branch, panting. “See?! It’s easy!” 

Ethan laughed, to Lucas’s dismay, and glanced at Phillip. “Okay, who goes next?”

Phillip was a trembling mess. “Um, I think I’ll, just, um. Stay on the ground. If that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay,” he reassured him, and stood at the base of the tree, gazing up at the towering path he had to follow now. Suddenly it didn’t seem so easy anymore. “Oh God, it’s _huge.”_

“That’s okay. I’ll give you directions.” Lucas’s voice. “Put your hand on that weird tiny bump.”

Ethan did. The weird tiny bump ended up being a cluster of spider egg sacs, and he cried out in disgust as thousands of little spiders poured out of the cracks he had created and onto his hand, his arm, his face. As he frantically brushed swarms and swarms of the wiggling black arachnids off of his body, he had flashbacks of the hundreds of mutated bugs he had encountered not so long ago. He felt desperate. He swiped and scratched and clawed and even when he couldn’t see any more of the little things, he still felt them biting and crawling into his sleeves and down his shirt. No matter how much he tried to get rid of them, he still felt the damn biting and crawling. 

There was a hand on his shoulder. “They’re all off, I promise.” It was Phillip, overwhelmingly gentle and understanding, as he too hated bugs. Ethan looked down at his clothing. There was nothing there anymore. He took a deep breath. 

“Thank you.” And he looked up at the tree again, determined to try again. But... “Aria, can _you_ help this time?”

“No problem!”

Under her verbal walkthrough, Ethan managed to scrabble and struggle his way up to nearly the top. Foolishly, he chanced a glance downcast, and his vision felt fuzzy as he saw exactly how small the picnic blanket looked from here-- like a checkered handkerchief. _Fuck._

“I, uh, I don’t...Can someone help me up?” His mouth went dry. His heart pounded. 

Aria reached down, grabbed his hand, and was about to pull him onto the branch when Lucas _slapped_ her hand out of the way with a sharp, _”Don’t touch him!”_ and Aria shrieked and Ethan fell and Ethan fell and Ethan fell until he landed with a terrible thud.

_____________________________________________

Lucas only climbed down halfway and jumped the rest, desperate to get to Ethan. Aria scrambled down just as quickly, and they both joined Phillip in gathering around him, dropping to their knees as Ethan coughed and wheezed and struggled to get his breath back into his lungs. Lucas shouldered the others away, grabbed his limp hand, looked directly into his eyes, and whispered, “oh God I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, Ethan, please be okay. Please. I didn’t mean to hurt ya, I really didn’t, I promise, I promise that I just didn’t want _her_ touchin’ ya, and fuck. Fuck, please don’t be broken, Ethan. You gotta be okay.”

Finally breathing properly again, Ethan opened his mouth to lash out at him with cruel words fueled by pain, but a tear landed on his cheek. It wasn’t his own. For the second time ever, Lucas was crying. His thin shoulders shuddered and his eyes were terrified. And Ethan said, “Oh.” Because he got it now. It might have had to be physically slammed into him, but now he got it. Lucas _loved_ him, whether the man himself knew it or not. He fell silent. It wasn’t quiet for long, however, because Aria started going off, guns ablazing. 

“Don’t you care about him at _all?!_ Jesus fucking Christ, he could’ve broken his fucking neck! You’ve been a complete asshole _all fucking day_ and I’ve been tolerating it up until now because I didn’t want to butt into your guys’ relationship or whatever, but this is the fucking last straw. Are you fucking _trying_ to kill him?!”

And Lucas laughed brokenly, because the answer was yes. He was supposed to. But now he was so goddamn weak, and _oh God what if I’m not able to actually do it when the time comes and what if I’m too weak and-_ Fortunately, Aria stomped all over his train of thought.

“Why the _hell_ are you laughing? You’re fucking messed up. Get the hell away from Ethan!” It was an order so sharp and authoritative that Lucas obeyed, retreating to Ethan’s side instead. Ethan’s eyes were closed. 

“W-wake up, dumbass!” he snapped, voice cracking with pain. This earned him a fierce glare from Aria.

“But it hurts.” In a feeble croak that absolutely wrecked Lucas. He couldn’t handle watching him like this anymore. He stumbled over to Phillip, who wouldn’t look at him. 

They stood in silence, staring at that stupid tree they had climbed. He hated it now. For once, Phillip spoke first.

“You like him.” It was so matter-of-fact that Lucas couldn’t even deny it. “Romantically,” he continued, “and it’s obvious, you know. You’re down hard. Anyone that looks at you two can see it.”

“Yeah.” 

“For God’s sake, dude, you don’t even let anyone go _near_ the guy! You’re as protective as a guard dog. You don’t have to be as protective, you know.”

“Why not? He’s pretty as fuck-- you can’t deny it. He’s pretty and whip-smart and so gentle and carin’ and.... And that’s not the point. Aria’s tryin’ to take him from me. Give me one reason I shouldn’t keep the two separate.”

“Well, for starters, Aria is a raging lesbian.”

_____________________________________

After about ten minutes, Aria waved the pair back over. Ethan stood in a painfully familiar, hunched-over stance that gave Lucas flashbacks to mold and infection. He had looked this exact way after the old man had taken an axe to his body.

“Look who’s back.” Aria put her hands on her hips, waiting expectantly.

Lucas waited in silence for a few agonizing moments before Phillip nudged him. “C’mon, dude. Like we rehearsed.”

“Oh! Oh, yea. Okay. Uh. Uh, I’m real sorry, Aria. I’ve been a bitch today. I ain’t usually like this, and please gimme another chance. I didn’t know you were a lesbian.” 

_”What?”_

“I mean, I shouldn’t have been an asshole. I’m sorry.”

She appeared to accept his crude apology with a curt but approving dip of her head. “He’s the one that you should be apologizing to. And he’s doing fine. Ethan’s fine. No broken bones. For a few days, he’s probably going to be sore from such a blunt hit, though. No evidence of a concussion yet, but you need to keep an eye on him. Don’t let him fall asleep until, like, 1 AM in the morning. Okay?”

“Yes.” Right away. Without hesitation.

“Let me know if he starts forgetting shit.” She took his phone, entered her number, and handed it back, business-like. She turned to Phillip. “Wanna get outta here? It’s time for me to feed Sweetpea and Kneecap.” 

“Yeah. It’s getting late. I’ll see you guys later. Feel better, Ethan.”

“Mm, feel better, Ethan. That’s a weird friend you’ve got there.”

And they were gone.

The drive home was quiet. 

“Did...did you wanna know the reason that Aria’s so good at first aid and stuff?”

“It’s...it’s because she really likes this one girl that’s studyin’ to be one of those ones that goes around in the ambulance!”

“...She’s a lesbian. I shouldn’t have been so mean to her.”

“I...fuck. Fuck, I’m so sorry, Ethan. I--I promise I didn’t mean to make you fall. It was a knee-jerk reaction, please believe me. God, please trust me. Please.”

“Ethan.”

“Ethan, _please.”_

The rest of the drive home was silent. Ethan seemed to be deep in thought.

When they finally returned home, the waning moon shone proudly in the sky, a bright little sliver of light against a dark canvas. Ethan held back and stared up at it rather than following Lucas into the house.

“Hey, somethin’ wrong? Oh, please answer me.”

“Mm. Just thinking.” His eyes were gentle. 

“Will you come inside soon?”

“I think I’ll look at the stars for a while. On the hill.” He nodded towards the grassy knoll nearby. Then he walked over to it, leaving Lucas to helplessly trail behind and wonder if he was concussed after all. He seemed...too reflective. Not worried enough, granted what had just gone down.

After a shamefully long time, Lucas finally crested the top-- climbing that awful slope was hard work for skinny legs --and witnessed the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.

Ethan was sprawled out on the long, soft bed of grass, relaxed and content and gazing up at the universe. Moonlight poured over his soft lips, pooled into his puppy-dog eyes, and trickled down his chiseled jawline. He looked like Apollo, beautiful and absolutely divine and sculpted out of marble. And oh, how could Lucas even spare a glance to the galaxies when the real work of nature was right here in front of him?

Ethan’s voice sounded as velvety as his parted lips looked as he murmured, “look how pretty the stars are.”

And Lucas looked. He watched as a shooting star arched across the canvas of a sky and identified constellations he hadn’t seen since he was a child and recognized the Milky Way. Upon returning his eyes to Ethan, he felt warmer inside than the sun. 

“Come lay down with me, Luke.”

And who was he to say no?

“Look up at the stars. You’re not looking up, really. ‘Up’ doesn’t mean anything. When you stand, you’re sticking out into space, not standing upwards. So right now, you’re not looking up. You’re on the underside of the planet, looking down into the universe. The stars are below you. And how are you not falling? It’s because gravity holds you. It’s holding you above the stars. Right now, you’re looking down at the stars and you’re being held by a giant spinning rock, and you’re a part of the Milky Way Galaxy experiencing what it is like to _be_ the Milky Way Galaxy.”

He smiled softly. “And I’m a part of the Milky Way Galaxy talking to another part of the Milky Way Galaxy. Hey, let’s find the constellations.”

And just then, he turned his head and looked at Lucas, and his eyes were full of moon and stars and nebulas and _galaxy, he is part of our entire galaxy_.

Lucas could hardly speak. Not when he was being held above the stars next to a man that looked like a Greek god. “B-but. But I don’t _know_ any.” He had forgotten them all now that he was beside such a wonderful creature.

“We’ll make up our own. Ancient people used to do it. Why can’t we?” And he said it so easily, so casually, that it seemed like the obvious thing to do. Now, he pointed to a splatter of unruly dots with a long stem and a pot-like curve of more pinpricks at its base. “See, that’s an orchid. And there’s a story behind it.”

“Tell me the story.” Lucas’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Once, there were two people. One of them loved the outdoors. The other loved to stay inside. Their names were Florus and Alban. They loved each other almost more than anything in the world, but they could never spend much time together because when Florus came inside to visit Alban, he began to crumple up and wilt. He needed the sun on his back and the grass under his feet. When Alban came outside to visit Florus, he would grow weak and scared. He needed the safety of a roof over his head and shelter all around him.”

“Did they ever try to live together anyhow?”

“Yes. One day, Florus decided that he would try his hardest for Alban. He loved him more than clouds and more than trees. And Alban was ill and unable to come outside. So Florus came inside Alban’s house and lived with him. On the first night, he crumpled a little. But he was happy because he was with Alban. On the second night, he was thirsty no matter how much water he drank. But he was still happy because he was with Alban. On the third night, he became sick. On the fourth, he became sicker. He grew less and less alive every day, but refused to leave Alban’s side, because Alban was getting ill too, from not moving from his bed. But Florus laid down beside him, and Alban wrapped his arms around him and held him.”

He sighed quietly. “After a month, Florus was very sick. He said, ‘I want to die in your embrace. I cannot take it anymore. I want Hades to end my life short, just so that the remaining life within me will be turned into a flower.” And Florus died in Alban’s arms. Alban was so overcome with grief that he died too, just to join Florus. His arms were holding Florus, and he became a pot as Florus became a great, beautiful orchid. And they still remain, finally together forever.”

Lucas gazed up at the constellation. “That’s a sad story.”

“Mm, many are. Can you tell me about another constellation?”

Lucas arched his back, stretched out his spindly body, sighed contentedly, and indicated to a rough pointillism piece of two figures standing together.

“Look there. It’s a mentally unsound loser, and beside him’s a silly city boy with these pretty puppy-dog eyes. And...and the silly city boy is way too good for him, really. He doesn’t...he doesn’t deserve to go through all this shit. He’s gone through way too much already.” His voice trembled. “But...but they’re standin’ together anyhow.”

“Is their story a sad one, too?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know the endin’ yet.”

“There’s a star between them.”

“Hm. There is.” His heartbeat quickened.

“I don’t want there to be anything between them.”

And Ethan gently cupped Lucas’s face with his hand, feeling how red-hot it is. Lucas lost himself in those eyes. Robin’s eggs and winter mornings met chestnuts roasting and crystallized amber. And--

“Can I kiss you?” Lucas’s voice was rough with desperation.

_”Please yes.”_ Beautifully broken. It hurt so much to stay apart.

And they kissed above the stars, gravity holding them to the grass and Ethan holding Lucas tenderly and lovingly. At first, it was gentle and withholding, both men worried that they might hurt the other, but _fuck,_ Ethan’s lips were _so soft_ , and a quiet beg caught in Lucas’s throat, and he bit Ethan’s bottom lip, taking it into his mouth, claiming it, claiming _him_ , all raw and needy. Ethan melted against him, relaxing into his pull, gently running his fingers through his downy-soft hair. He gave himself over, so trusting, always so trusting. Lucas took and took and took, gathering him into his arms and sucking on his lip and swiping his tongue across the seam of his mouth. Once he realized that nobody was going to take his precious Ethan away, however, he grew more tender. He brushed his thumb over Ethan’s swollen lips, admiring his handiwork as he was drenched in moonlight. He wanted to remember the sight before him forever: the look of love and passion in Ethan’s eyes. The way his lips parted just for him. How his legs were ever-so-slightly spread out without him realizing it. 

During this moment, everything was okay. No infection, no Molded. No self-worths being based on body counts. There was only love and stars and robin’s eggs and safety, winter mornings and warmth. Pebbles and fireplaces. Only Lucas and Ethan.

Someone stargazing that night would have seen the star between the loser and the silly city boy wink and disappear.


	6. Percy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old friend comes over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm back! I hope you guys are all drinking plenty of water and staying safe out there!

Right after the kiss, the two were breathless, staring at one another in quiet awe, lips still parted.

When Ethan ran his fingers through Lucas’s downy soft hair, he leaned into it. “Ethan, I....I ain’t never been kissed before. I hope it was okay.”

Ethan gently stroked his cheek with a, “Oh sweetheart, that was _wonderful.”_

Lucas flushed an even rosier shade and averted his eyes. “I think we might be a lil’ more than roommates.”

“I think you’re right.”

“I--I’m real sorry that I hurt you today, smackin’ Aria’s hand like that...”

“I’ve gone through worse, Luke.”

Lucas’s eyes clouded over with pain, and he buried his face into Ethan’s warm chest, then melted against it. “I don’t want to think about you gettin’ hurt. ‘Specially not by me.”

“We don’t have to.” He rubbed his back reassuringly, pressing him ever closer to his own body. “I know that you’d never hurt me on purpose.”

Lucas stiffened abruptly and disentangled himself from the other man, face painfully placid now. His voice was cold. “Ethan, when is your birthday?”

The worried look that he received in return nearly shattered his heart. “Is everything okay? I’m sorry that I touched your back, I wasn’t thinki--”

“Fuckin’ answer the fuckin’ question!”

Ethan flinched.

“Damn right, you weren’t thinkin’! You’re a fuckin’ dumbass, that’s why. Now answer me. I won’t say it again. I asked, _when is your damn birthday?”_

“It, uh, it’s March 14th.”

 _”It, uh, it’s_ an easy fuckin’ question,” Lucas sneered, lips curling, teeth flashing in the dark. “Looks like your lil’ stutter came back. Do you know how fuckin’ stupid you sound, Ethan? You’re the most brain-dead piece of shit I’ve ever seen.” He typed the birth date into his phone. “Now get inside. It’s late.”

“But--” Ethan looked like a kicked kitten.

“I said, _come inside.”_ He grabbed his wrist to force him, but Ethan resisted.

Those puppy-dog eyes were huge and hurting. _But it doesn’t feel good to see him in pain anymore. Why doesn’t it fuckin’ feel good anymore?_ Now they blinked back tears.

“Wh-what happened? I thought that we--”

“You thought a lot of things. Just get the hell inside. It’s fuckin’ dark, and you’ve got a concuss or whatever it’s fuckin’ called!”

“You’re not acting like yourself, Luke. This _isn’t you.”_

“Don’t call me that.” He dragged him back into the house, shoved him into the couch, and stormed into the bedroom, locking the door once he was inside. 

Now that Ethan couldn’t see him, he collapsed on the bed, bunching up the soft blanket--it smelled of the very man he was avoiding--in his hands and hugging it to his chest. _Fuck._ He felt like dog shit, but this was really a good thing-- Ethan was rapidly becoming more and more affectionate towards him. Meaning that it would hurt him beyond compare when his birthday came around, when Lucas would force him through a reprise of the Happy Birthday puzzle, taunt him, and then end his life. March 14th. Three months away. Three months to work on and perfect the trap, make Ethan love him, and gather the courage to kill him. And hey, if he could score a blowjob or two along the way, that was all the better.

_What the fuck are you talkin’ about? You’re actin’ like a damn monster again! What the hell happened to tryin’ to get better!_

“Shut _up!”_ His hoarse snarl echoed in the empty room, cruelly reminding him that he was only talking to himself.

_Hey, dipshit, how do you think you’re goin’ to live with yourself after you kill him?_

“Same fuckin’ way that I lived with myself after Ollie and Clancy an’ all the others!” He clutched his head, pinpricks of pain shooting through his skull as his sharp fingernails pierced his scalp.

_Ethan’s different from them and you know it._

“Stop! _Please!”_

_What if you can’t do it when the time comes, idiot? What if you can’t do it? You ain’t gonna be able to do it, fuckin’ monster!_

His head hurt, his head hurt, oh _god,_ he wanted to tear himself apart-- _”Tickin’-fuckin’-time-bomb, dipshit!”_ he sobbed.

His hand trembled as he scribbled out a plan on a scrap of paper. He’d build a time bomb first, then the rest of his contraption later. The bomb itself would only take a day or so. He’d get started now. That way, he’d get the hard part over with, and would be able to say that time had killed Ethan Winters and not the man that was growing to adore him. Now he heard footsteps in the hallway.

_Oh thank God, it’s Ethan, it’s Ethan and he’s goin’ to hug me and make everythin’ better, and oh God I’ll tell him how sorry I am for hurtin’ his feelings, and oh please let him forgive me, fuck, please, I can’t have him mad at me--_

But there was just a muffled whimper. And the footsteps faded into silence.

Lucas had heard that kind of whimper too many times. It was the sound his mama made after his ol’ man beat her black and blue last February. It was the last cry of the bucks he used to shoot down, their last words before their eyes went dark, throats clotted with blood. It was Clancy’s last gasp, the one that came after all of the screams. After he had given up. It was the sound of pure despair. Lucas Baker could laugh at victims as they begged for mercy, could snicker through blood-curdling shrieks of innocents, but that whimper-- _fuck,_ it haunted his daily nightmares. And to hear it coming from Ethan made him want to die.

“What am I _doing?”_ But the only thing that heard him was the photograph on Ethan’s bedside table. It was the picture of him as a little boy-- Ethan had kept it in the frame. Now, Lucas looked into the great big blue eyes of the innocent child he used to be and broke down sobbing again.

He was still crying when he began working on the time bomb.

_________________________________________

By midday on Monday, Lucas still hadn’t left his room. The bedroom door muffled his clanging, tinkering, and the familiar _CLANK-thud!_ of the red toolbox Ethan had given him. Ethan was grateful that the man hadn’t come out, however, because he didn’t want him to see exactly how much of an impact his words from last night made. The empty tissue box. The dark circles under Ethan’s eyes. The puffiness. The fact that he hadn’t moved from the couch since Lucas had shoved him into it. And God, he had thought that Lucas liked him. He had shown all the signs of it, and he had kissed him, and--

_Do you know how fuckin’ stupid you sound, Ethan? You’re the most brain-dead piece of shit I’ve ever seen._

And nothing.

God, he needed someone to talk to. He couldn’t handle being alone in the house with _him_ right now. He took his phone off of the coffee table and scrolled through his contacts, stopping at the name of an old friend.

Percy Richardson.

The man he had spoken to on the phone so long ago. They hadn’t spoken much since-- even seeing his name on the contacts list made him remember that call. It always hurt to think of that conversation. How hopeful he had been, even after three years, innocent and oblivious to the fact that his life was about to be fucked up forever. 

But somehow, Ethan found himself pressing the call button and holding the phone up to his ear. He didn’t even have to wait for a second ring.

“Hello?” 

“Hey, it’s, uh--it’s Ethan.” This felt all-too-familiar. 

“Oh hey, you alright? You just disappeared for a couple of weeks.”

“Yeah, yeah. No, I’m good, I’m good. It’s Mia.” It was a white lie.

 _She’s not dead, she’s alive. She’s back,_ his memories echoed.

 _They found her? How?_ “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” _I don’t know how, but she’s back, she’s back somehow. Maybe it’s a prank. She wants me to come and get her._

“Talk to me, Ethan.”

 _Those aren’t the right lines._ Ethan snapped out of it. “God, I...I’m just going through a rough time. I miss her. Can you come over? I miss hanging out, Perce.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. Right now?”

“Please.”

“I gotcha. I’ll be there in ten.”

Ethan exhaled for what felt like the first time in forever. Then, _CLANK-thud!_ “Oh, yeah. I have a...roommate now. We’re not close. He keeps to himself. Shouldn’t bother us.”

“Okay. Sit tight, okay? I’ll bring your favorite, because it’s a special occasion and all.”

“The famous chocolate chip banana nut bread muffins?!” 

“Damn right. See you soon, okay? Keep your head up.”

“See you, Perce.”

The line clicked. 

Ethan turned to look over his shoulder for Lucas, expecting him to be standing there, eyes full of tears, apologizing for what he had said. How badly he had hurt him. But there was nobody there. Just a taunting CLANK-thud! to remind Ethan that he was still working on some random contraption without a care in the world. 

When the doorbell rang, Ethan opened the door to reveal his old friend. Nothing physical had changed besides a new haircut. But things no longer felt easy between them. Instead of his usual half-hug greeting, Percy just stood in the doorway, awkward and unfamiliar, clutching the Tupperware of muffins a little too tightly. 

“Hey Perce.”

“Hey.” He squinted at his red face. “You don’t look so hot.”

“I _know,_ asshat. Nice haircut there. Getting a little balder.”

“For your information, micro prick, it’s called a _fade,_ and it took way too long for the sponge twists to turn out just right. You wouldn’t know any of that, though, because you literally have the same haircut as every other middle class white dude.”

And suddenly they were laughing, and everything was okay again. Percy came inside, the two sprawled out on the couch, and somewhere along the way, the Tupperware’s lid was snapped off and two muffins disappeared into thin air.

Now they started up Mario Kart. Percy called dibs on Bowser, as per usual, and relentlessly bashed his kart into Link, who Ethan was forced to settle for, as per usual. 

“This isn’t bumper cars! The hell are you doing!” The poor blond character was being bounced around in his seat from the impact of Bowser’s merciless smashing.

Percy merely cackled like the cruel monster he was and then promptly won first place. “Let’s gooo! Anyway, what’s new? Speed round. I got a new apartment.”

“I lost weight.”

“I started playing tennis.”

“I think I’m bisexual.”

“I found out I’m lactose intolerant the hard way and--what?” He set his controller down and looked at Ethan.

Rubbing his damp hands on his jeans, Ethan gave a forced shrug. “I...I don’t know. I was talking to a guy for a little while, and I...I really really liked him.”

“For real? Shit, dude, that’s great! My mama owes me ten bucks!”

“What! Did you guys bet on this?!”

“Whaddya think? Dude, when I sat my parents down to tell them I lost my job, they were expecting me to come out as gay. Before I could say anything, my mama said, ‘Knew it! That cutie Ethan and you is dating. Always knew he was gay.” 

“Shit! In a bad way?”

“Nah. She thought we made a cute couple. After she finished beating my ass for losing the job, she said she’d bet ten bucks you’d be gay, and I decided to bet ten bucks you’d be bisexual. I mean, you married Mia, so you must’ve felt something, right?”

Ethan went silent. 

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Rematch,” Ethan said quietly. So they raced until 5 PM, gorged themselves on a proper feast of cheap beer, microwavable frozen pizza, and chips. Afterward, they switched to Monopoly, promptly grew bored and turned to Wingspan, then Uno, then Mario Party 8, and suddenly it was 1 AM and they realized that their eyes hurt and that the couch was only big enough for one full-grown adult man to sleep on it. They played rock-paper-scissors for it. Percy won. 

As Ethan laid out some pillows on the carpet to serve as his mattress for the night, he cast a wary glance at Percy, who was snug as a bug on the couch, which now looked softer and more luxurious than ever. He was all wrapped up in the nicer of the two blankets, leaving Ethan with the heavy and overbearing old quilt. “Are you _sureee_ you don’t wanna let poor old Ethan sleep on the couch tonight?”

“Yep.”

“Don’t you want to play two out of three? I bet you can’t win another round.” He looked miserably down at his lumpy makeshift bed. 

“Good- _night,_ micro prick.”

“Goodnight, asshat.” He settled down in bed and stared up at the ceiling. Suddenly it was all too overwhelming-- the fact that his old friend was here, that Mia was dead, that his romance with Lucas was all a prank. His whole world was crashing down around him. Frantically, “Perce?”

“Yea, Ethan?”

“...thank you for coming over. It means a lot, man.”

A lazy yawn. Then, “Hey, of course. I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

“Now go to sleep, godamnit, so you can at least dream of beating me at Mario Kart.”

A tired laugh. And Ethan drifted into slumber.

__________________________________

Ethan woke up with something very heavy on him. Specifically, a 165-pound man. A 165-pound man that was crushing the life out of his poor numb arm. 

“Get off, Perce. Jesus Christ, you rolled off the couch when you were sleeping.”

No answer.

“Ughhh, wake _up!”_

But it was no use; Ethan was pinned down to the makeshift mattress of pillows. He gave an annoyed huff and listened to the rhythmic cadence of his best friend’s soft snores. It was relaxing in a strange way; it told him that he wasn’t alone, that it was safe enough to sleep. And Percy’s weight was comforting in that he couldn’t toss or turn. _Is this why people like weighted blankets so much?_ he mused. 

And apparently weighted blankets really did work, because soon Ethan had drifted into sleep once more. 

_________________________

He woke up to a hoarse scream.

Lucas was standing above him and Percy, wielding a fatally sharp mini-saw. It was poised right up against Percy’s neck. “Don’t move a fuckin’ muscle. I’ll fuckin’ kill you.” Lucas’s voice was cold, calculated. It reminded Ethan of the same man that had gutted a police officer and had then forced Ethan to put his hand through his innards. The same man that detonated a bomb to explode Ethan to pieces. The man that tied Mia and Zoe up, ready to murder them at a moment’s notice.

“Lucas!” Ethan’s voice was sharp. “What the _fuck_ are you doing?!”

“Oh, thank God, thank _GOD!_ Shit, you sleep like a log, man!” Percy was in hysterics.

“Is this your pretty little _boyfriend,_ Ethan? Had sex on the first night, didn’t you?”

“We didn’t do--” Percy began, but Lucas pierced his neck with the cold metal and he shut up.

“For Christ’s sake. This is my best friend Percy. He had a fucking sleepover with me and fell off the couch and onto me when I was asleep. Now get the hell away from us.”

Lucas narrowed his eyes. “You think I’m goin’ to fuckin’ believe that?”

“We are literally wearing all of our clothes.” Ethan struggled his way out from under Percy and glared as he gestured to the tissue-covered coffee table. “Look; I literally have been crying non stop since the shitty thing you did to me, and so I called Percy so that we could game and hang out and so I wouldn’t be wasting away because of you.”

“So it wasn’t because of Mia?” Percy looked nonplussed and betrayed.

“It wasn’t because of Mia,” Ethan repeated. “I’m sorry. But I didn’t know how to tell you that this _jerk_ pretended that he was interested in me and then called me the most brain-dead piece of shit he’d ever seen.” 

Lucas backed away, and an extremely irritated Percy sprang to his feet, jaw set. “You’re telling me this balding bitch called you brain-dead?”

A curt nod. 

Percy began to walk towards Lucas, cracking his knuckles like he’d seen from the movies.

“Wait! Wait, wait, I’m sorry. I really am!” Lucas dropped the saw on the floor (an unintelligent move on his part-- what a safety hazard!) and held up his trembling hands as his oceanic eyes watered. “I’m sorry. Fuck, Ethan, I didn’t...I didn’t know you’d get this hurt. I thought...I mean, nobody’s ever cared about the shit I’ve said before. That ain’t an excuse! But please...please don’t have your friend kill me, okay? I had a real bad mental state last night and I think I’m relapsing back into the piece of shit I used to be and I’m losing control and--” He closed his eyes for a moment and collected his broken self before continuing. “And please tell your friend not to kill me. Please. I...I wasn’t actually gonna hurt him, swear! Tell Pongo to stop.”

Percy saw red. “PONGO?!! Jesus fucking Christ, that is the _last straw._ You did NOT just call me the name of that dog from 101 Dalmatians. You’re fucking in for it now, baldo.”

But Ethan held him back with steady hands. “He didn’t mean it. Don’t beat him up please.”

“Oh, thank God! I don’t even know how to fight. I was kinda going to just slap him around.”

Ethan grinned weakly at him and then glanced at Lucas. His smile faded. “I...I’m sorry to kick you out like this, Perce, but I need to talk with Lucas.” 

“Don’t have to tell me twice. That’s some wack-ass trash you’ve got there. Call me if you need someone to slap some sense into his bald head.”

And with that, he took the empty Tupperware, the last slice of frozen pizza, and left, leaving Ethan and Lucas to stare at one another in tense silence. 

Lucas reached out to touch Ethan’s shoulder, and Ethan flinched away. “Don’t touch me. Why...why should I even be talking to you right now? Why should I subject you to talking to a brain-dead piece of shit, huh?”

“I’m sorry. Please believe me.” Lucas stared down at his socked feet. “I’m gonna be honest with you here. My ol’ man didn’t take kindly to homosexuals. He...he said that if he ever found me with another fella, he’d beat the shit out of me and send me to conversion therapy. He said...he said it was sick and twisted when two fellas were a couple, and told me that I’d go to Hell if I ever kissed a boy.” He raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot. “After we kissed, I kinda remembered all of that shit again. I thought that maybe if I-I was mean to you, y’know, you’d not like me anymore, and then we wouldn’t be a couple.” He froze. “Not that we _are_ a couple! Just. Just, we wouldn’t be sent to conversion therapy, or shot, or disowned, or beaten. Or..”

“Or going to Hell.”

“Yeah. It sounds so stupid now that I’m sayin’ it out loud.” A forced laugh. “But my family...we said grace every supper and went to church every Sunday. Every fuckin’ Sunday, they’d drill that into my head; that being gay was a sin. I...fuck, Ethan. I’m sorry.” He looked like he needed a hug badly.

Perhaps against his better judgement, Ethan opened his arms wide, and Lucas was up against his chest in a heartbeat. Ethan squeezed him tenderly, and Lucas trembled with a sob. “When I told my ol’ man that I’d read things on the Internet about how being gay is alright, he said...” He swallowed hard. “He said that I was the most brain-dead piece of shit that he’d ever seen, and that if I said anythin’ like that again, he’d tell the preacher.”

Ethan rubbed his back as he wept. “It’s okay. Shh, you’re going to be okay.”

“Even if I go to Hell?”

“If it’s a real place, and if being gay was a sin, then guess what?”

A weak sniffle. “W-what?”

“Then all the cool gay people are there, and we’d get to meet Oscar Wilde and Walt Whitman and Andy Warhol and Alexander the Great and more people than I could ever remember. But if God’s real, he doesn’t hate you for being gay, okay? Isn’t his whole shtick that he loves everyone?”

“Y-yeah.”

“So he wouldn’t hate men for loving other men. Now come try this banana muffin.”


End file.
